


Don't Ever Look Back

by VivificanousPrime



Series: Check Yes [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Graphic Description, Mech Preg (Transformers), Mind Manipulation, Starscream being Starscream, Suicide, spark bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:42:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 64,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27102895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivificanousPrime/pseuds/VivificanousPrime
Summary: Life as Autobots ended horribly, so Knock Out and Breakdown escape and join the Decepticons. Whether this is the right call or not, only time will tell.
Relationships: Breakdown/Knock Out, Shockwave/Soundwave (Transformers), Skywarp/Thundercracker (Transformers)
Series: Check Yes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1978210
Comments: 29
Kudos: 45





	1. Desertion

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with the sequel many were asking for!
> 
> If you haven't read "Run Baby Run", I do suggest doing so. You don't have to, obviously, but you might be very confused by what is going on.

The sun was high in Cybertron’s sky when Pharma signaled for them to follow. There was familiarity in trailing behind the flyer, glancing over his shoulder to ensure they weren’t seen, but being so exposed like this was anxiety inducing.

It helped that Breakdown didn’t hesitate. When doubt creeped in, the bruiser was at his back encouraging him forward. But as gentle as his lover was, the ice in his spark refused to melt.

With swift, cautious steps, the three of them flanked the row of soldiers furthest back in the battle and escaped into a sliver of the valley’s walls. Knock Out briefly grimaced at the tight space lined by rusty walls, but Breakdown touched his hip lightly, urging him through. They crept unnoticed until the land morphed into an open cave.

Brushing off the rust clinging to his plating, Knock Out looked about the space and nearly ran into Pharma.

Words of protest formed but were just as quickly forgotten as the figure waiting for them finally registered in his view. There, bathed in the small beam of light pouring in from the cave’s ceiling, stood a Decepticon seeker.

Knock Out couldn’t help but gawk at the sight of him. He had seen plenty of beautiful people in his lifetime, sure, but no one looked quite like this. Slender and sleeker than his own frame, the seeker held himself with an air of confidence befitting a conqueror of the sky, complete with the cocky grin and flitting wings. His bright red eyes shone something manically gleeful and were a striking feature contrasted to his dark purple and black coloration.

Behind him, Breakdown stiffened uncomfortably, no doubt having a completely different reaction to the sight of what was once his enemy. Sneaking a hand back, Knock Out flicked his servo around until he found his conjunx’s and squeezed it tight.

The seeker made a strange sound with his engine, his eyes flashing and wings twitching as he smirked. “Pharma, Pharma, Pharma,” he sang, voice oddly deep for someone with such a light air. “That isn’t my usual.”

“Like them?” Pharma stepped out of the way so there was nothing separating the pair from the seeker’s view. “They’re all yours. If you would,” he reached out a hand to the seeker, “we could go someplace more secure.”

“Of course!” Without any more warning, the seeker quickly closed the gap between them, grabbing Pharma’s outstretched servo along the way, and shoved his free hand to Knock Out’s throat. Breakdown reacted immediately, prepared to rip the mech away from him.

As soon as Breakdown’s hand connected to the ‘Con shoulder, the entire universe folded. Time and space condensed before swirling around them. Or, at least around Knock Out. He could no longer see the seeker or Pharma and try as he might to grip the hand he knew he held, he couldn’t feel Breakdown. Within the span of less than a klick, the world was torn asunder into every color, went entirely black, and was then thrown back into place.

When reality finally returned, the seeker had taken a few steps back, dancing out of the way of a stumbling Breakdown. Knock Out wobbled uncertainly, feeling for all the world like he was going to either purge, go into stasis lock, or both.

The seeker belted out a crazed laugh, wings flapping happily as he pointed at Breakdown acquainting his face with the ground. “Weaklings!”

“Meet Skywarp,” Pharma huffed, smirking down at him.

That didn’t seem right. Pharma was taller than him, yes, but Knock Out knew he at least came to the flyer’s chest not his knees. Feeling slowly returned to his frame, and he registered the filthy ground beneath his aft.

He pushed himself slowly to his knees and hissed at his mentor, “Frag you.”

Pharma made a tsking noise at him. “The mech you’re looking for is the one tasting the rust.”

Another laugh from the seeker drew his attention just in time to see Breakdown struggle to his peds only to topple over again in his disoriented state.

That was when he noticed the significant change in their surroundings. Rather than the valley’s innards, they were on what seemed to be a plain, void of any other living thing. That was, until Knock Out turned around. Not far from where they had appeared was the ledge of a plateau, one of the elevated sides of the valley, the battle they had escaped just below them. Jets flew overhead of the scene but paid the four of them no mind. Following their flight path down the valley, the other end of the battlefield came into view, a dark tower looming on the edge of the plateau some distance away.

“We’re…” his processor struggled to catch up to him, “we’ve moved.”

“How insightful,” Pharma mocked, grinning at him and his stupid statement.

“Neat, huh?” the seeker called out, the entertainment in watching Breakdown fall evidently exhausted. “We did a wuuurb!”

His processor nearly stalled again. “A what?”

“Wuuurrrb!” Skywarp insisted, gesturing with both hands in waving motions. “We warped from one place to another. But it sounds like this!” He took a deep in-vent, then released it as a deep tunneling sound that stretched on obnoxiously long.

Knock Out glanced at Pharma out of the corner of his eye, but when his mentor didn’t seem the least bit concerned, his anxiety peaked.

“Well, if we do that again, a warning would be nice.” Breakdown finally settled on his peds, huffing frustratedly. “Or just don’t do it.”

“So!” Skywarp exclaimed with a clap, completely ignoring the blue warrior. “You got the goods Pharmacology?”

“No.”

Immediately, the seeker completely deflated, his every feature collapsing down into a pitiful display. “What? Why?”

Pharma pointed casually to the battle unfolding behind him. “The more mechs you people take down, the more painkillers I use up. _Hence_ the new recruits.”

Skywarp turned a suspicious look towards him, prompting Breakdown to quicken his return to his side. The seeker hummed loudly, then sneered at Pharma. “That can’t be _it_.”

Pharma just grinned politely. “Agree to take them in first.”

Wings hiking skyward, Skywarp was swift to nod. “Sure! Now what you got?”

From a subspace compartment, Pharma procured three energon cubes, their dark hue sparking several lovely memories of a time long before the war.

“That’ll do!” Skywarp agreed, lunging over to swipe the highgrade before Pharma tried to pull anything. “I want _my_ stuff next time, though.”

“That will depend on the state of my patients,” Pharma reminded him.

“Yeah, yeah.” Skywarp waved away the excuse. “Where you want to be dumped?”

Knock Out didn’t miss the glance Pharma sent his way. “My usually place,” he answered. Turning to the pair, he arched his chin in question. “Well?”

The speed with which this was all taking place felt fast enough to snap him in two, but Knock Out stayed steady. It never paid to appear vulnerable in front of Pharma.

Mimicking his mentor’s snarky expression, Knock Out tilted his helm. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Pharma smirked at that and lowered his helm, so they were evenly faced. “Don’t waste the opportunity I’ve given you.”

Leverage wrapped in a threat masquerading as a fond parting. Knock Out wouldn’t have expected any less from the glitch.

Setting the cubes on the ground with overly careful motions, Skywarp flapped his wings excitedly. “Ready?”

At his nod, the seeker came over to Pharma and set a hand on the flyer’s shoulder. In an instant, they disappeared with a flash and a loud popping sound.

The pair stood in a stunned silence for a beat before Knock Out turned around to face his lover. “Well, then,” he muttered.

Breakdown snorted, shaking his helm. “I don’t know about Skywarp.” He stared down at Knock Out, his gaze soft and worried. “How far are we actually taking the whole… ‘we’re not a thing’ …thing?”

Knock Out was prepared to fire back all the excuses he had made before they left, but looking into his lover’s soft eyes, he lost the will to fight. They were both confused and overwhelmed on top of their already grief-stricken states. This simply wasn’t worth the lack of comfort. Rather than actually answering, he shuffled closer, so he could wrap his arm around Breakdown’s much larger one and intertwine their servos, much to his lover’s delight.

As quickly as he had left, Skywarp reappeared. And made a beeline for his highgrade cubes. He put the first two in a subspace compartment, but the third he kept out and held gingerly as he removed the covering. He took a long, droning sip from the cube, looking as though he was already overcharged and near the end of his energy limit. With a content hum, he lowered the cube then did a double take at the pair.

“Oh, yeah.” The seeker shuffled awkwardly, then looked them up and down with a critical eye. “So…how bad do you two want to switch sides?”

Knock Out cycled his vents as subtly as he could to even his shakiness. “I can assure you,” he said, voice silkier than he thought it would be, “we have no intentions of going back.”

Skywarp took another slow sip as he considered this. A casual shrug was all he offered before twirling around to waltz off toward the opposing side.

Correction, _their_ side. Knock Out shook himself to rid his mind of his prejudice. The sooner he considered himself and the Decepticons as one part of a whole, the better his odds would be.

Far closer now than from the Autobot defenses, the Decepticon stronghold rose out of the horizon, a dark and looming spire that seemed to point to the sun. Knock Out stared at the structure as they walked, imagining what laid in waiting for them.

His wonderings were cut short, though, by the seeker flittingly guiding them.

“Do either of you have flight modes?”

Breakdown shook his helm in the negative, heedless of the fact that Skywarp’s back was to them as his attention was drawn to the valley.

“No, we don’t,” Knock Out answered for them.

Skywarp brushed off the loss with an indifferent gesture. “Eh, it’s fine. I don’t mind the walk.”

Knock Out nearly asked him why they couldn’t just teleport to their destination, but a quick tug at his hand from Breakdown signaled for him to stop. Seeing the sickened expression his lover wore, he decided walking there was probably, in fact, the better option.

“Surprised you don’t fly, mech,” Skywarp remarked. “You seem to have the frame for it.”

Knock Out just hummed, used to such comments.

The seeker wasn’t deterred by the lack of interaction, though. “Most of the ‘Cons don’t have flight, so I’m pretty used to having to walk around with people.” He paused to take another sip, dancing lightly as he walked. “I bet you like driving fast, though! Frames like that are a lot like mine. We got to feel like we’re breaking some kind of law!”

“I like the way the air rushes past me,” Knock Out agreed, making sure to sound as honest as he truly was.

“Yeah! It’s like—” Skywarp abruptly halted dead in his tracks and looked off at the battle to the far right of them. A wing flicked, then both drooped down before hiking up again dramatically. When he turned to the side, his face came into view along with the strange expression he wore. Skywarp seemed irritated by an invisible person speaking to him, making faces at the vacant air and flinging his wings about wildly.

A jet veered off from above the valley floor, making a pass at the edge several paces away from them. As it flew by, Breakdown was quick to wrap his thicker arms around Knock Out but not so tight that he missed Skywarp gesturing rudely to the comrade.

“Here,” the seeker called out in a huff, walking over to the pair, highgrade held out to them. “Hold this.” Not wanting to anger him, Breakdown cautiously accepted the cube. Skywarp then reached into his subspace and handed over the other two. “And these.” Nodding, Knock Out took them. With a threatening grin, Skywarp noted, “I know how much is in those.”

With that, he disappeared in flash, the air around him pulling at their frames from the sudden displacement.

“He seems…”

“Interesting?” Knock Out suggested.

“Sure.” Breakdown shifted, loosening his hold on him slightly. “Least he didn’t think twice about us.”

“I doubt that will be the case later.” Knock Out looked up to see Breakdown’s face. “We just need to stay calm and cordial. Stick with our story.”

Breakdown nodded, but his gaze remained locked on what little they could see of the battle. It was clear what he was thinking, but Knock Out knew better than to ask of it. Neither of them needed to put to words the emotions surrounding what was to come. Sooner or later, they would have to face the consequences of choosing themselves over loyalties, Breakdown even more so, but that was more than Knock Out was willing to comprehend at the moment.

Skywarp wasn’t gone very long, and though Knock Out was well aware of what the seeker was likely doing in his absence, he wasn’t prepared for the state he returned in. Energon coated Skywarp’s dark frame in bright blue streaks, the thick liquid clinging to him and dripping gradually to the ground.

“Highgrade.”

Knock Out jerked back to attention, cautiously handing over the unopened cubes as Breakdown did the same with the one he held. The seeker snatched them away with quick motions that left energon splattered across the both of them.

“Want to know who I murked?”

Something about that tone was disturbingly delighted. “…no,” Knock Out said hesitantly.

Skywarp just shrugged and drained the rest of his first cube. “Suit yourself!”

“What was…” Breakdown gestured vaguely at the seeker, “all the…that about?”

The seeker tilted his helm curiously. “The what?”

Were they on any other situation, Knock Out may have chuckled at his lover’s adorable awkwardness, but he instead pressed his mouth into a thin line to contain himself.

“The…” Breakdown huffed as he fumbled over his words. “When you—”

“Oh!” Skywarp flapped his wings as if to emphasize them, sending more energon flying. “The that!”

“Yeah!”

Skywarp busied himself with opening his second cube instead of elaborating, staring the couple down as he took a long swig of it. He shifted his gaze back to the valley, squinting at something to his left, his wings beginning another round of their strange flapping. When he lowered the cube, he was wearing a stern frown unbecoming of his happy energy. “My trinemate’s worried you’re spies.”

“Well,” Knock Out glanced about them, searching for an adequate excuse. “We’re not.”

“Sure, you aren’t,” Skywarp sang sarcastically. Walking over to the edge, he motioned for the couple to follow him. Once the war waging in the valley below came into full view, the seeker pointed to a random section of the fray marred by bots with Autobot insignia. “Shoot that guy.”

Panic rose and quickly took over most of his body, freezing him in place. Fortunately for his sanity, Knock Out didn’t have the means of even making the decision. “Would help if I had a weapon of some sort,” he mocked, hoping the try at humor would defuse the situation.

“Not you.” The seeker sneered down at Knock Out and jerked his head at Breakdown. “You got to have something on you, right?”

Breakdown went still next to him, a similar anxiety infiltrating his EM field. “Wouldn’t we give away our position?”

Skywarp waved off the idea. “Chaos is ignorant. No one will know, look at ‘em!”

He had a solid point. The three of them were standing a mere stride or two from the edge, and everyone on the valley floor appeared far too occupied with killing one another to consider looking upward.

“Why, though?”

Skywarp reeled back, as though he suddenly realized ideocracy existed. “You want to be a Decepticon, don’t you?”

“I’m not changing sides because I want to hurt more people,” Breakdown insisted, not taking the cue Knock Out was sending him to quiet down, just squeezing the hand he held right back. “I don’t kill unless I have to.”

Whatever Skywarp was thinking as he stared at Breakdown, his vacant expression refused to show it. Then he grinned like he was catching on to a joke, chuckling lowly. “What’s ‘ _have to_ ’ even supposed to mean? How do you know any of those mechs aren’t the bad guys?”

Breakdown broaden his shoulders in stubborn defiance. “I don’t hurt without a cause.”

A bizarre cackle erupted from the seeker. “You—” he paused to cycle his vents and take another sip of his highgrade “—you’re going to have a hard time adjusting.”

Breakdown grimaced frustratedly, and Knock Out pressed a servo against his midriff to keep him where he was. “It takes a lot to push me to harm someone.”

Skywarp quieted, bringing the cube up to his lip plates slowly, assessing the larger warrior with piercing eyes and utter indifference. “You think you’re a better person than me?”

“You’re the one covered in someone else’s energon and smiling about it.”

Knock Out swore under his breathe, keeping his frightened gaze on the ground as his lover suddenly discovered his confidence.

“You know,” Skywarp said with a delighted upturn in his tone, “I’m the same way. I don’t _like_ hurting people. Who does?” Curiosity stroked, Knock Out glanced up at the Decepticon to see how truthful the statement was. The seeker was taking a step closer, leaning in playfully. “But how do you know that us ‘Cons haven’t been ‘pushed’ too far?”

Breakdown didn’t have an answer for that, nor anything to say, really. So, Knock Out inserted himself. “Perhaps we’re all alike in that respect, yes?”

That seemed to satisfy the seeker seeing as he stepped back and away from the battlefield, looking over him appreciatively. Conversation apparently over, Skywarp twirled back in the direction of the stronghold, waltzing off without a cue.

A comfortable silence followed as they continued about their journey. Breakdown didn’t release their clasped hands, and with Skywarp’s back to them, he began to swing their hands back and forth between them, deep in thought. The seeker strayed off into his own little world, finishing his second cube and opening his third, all the while dancing as he walked to a tune only he could hear.

Knock Out, meanwhile, did his best to calm himself. This was a better situation than the one they were fleeing, he was sure of it, and second guessing was only filling his spark with more unnecessary worries. Besides, there was no way to turn back, now. To do so would spell certain death for the both of them. Their options now were to either die as Autobots or live a little longer as Decepticons.

And it wasn’t as if they could afford to risk themselves, anyway. Knock Out let his side of the bond with both twins open ever so slightly, just enough to let them know he was still alive and thinking of them. Sideswipe didn’t hesitate to return the sentiment, and Sunstreaker stressed his encouragement, urging them to proceed.

The exchanged eased some of the tension stored in his shoulders, but still. There wasn’t much peace in choosing the lesser of two evils.

After nearly half a joor of watching Skywarp dance about in front of them, the base of the Decepticon stronghold came into full view. The massive black structure towered overhead, blocking out the sun. Some light was scattered through the windows adoring the spire, but its absorptive hue drained the architecture of its ability to glow. With sharp ledges jutting out from hanger bays and ugly, pointed columns holding the building together, Knock Out absently wondered whether any decent artists even existed on this side of the war.

Skywarp stopped a small ways away from the entrance, sipping slowly from what was left of his final cube of highgrade. “We got to wait for my trine.” Once he received two nods of acknowledgement, his playful gaze turned into something vaguely resembling seriousness. “So…why are you two switching?”

Knock Out shifted where he stood, debating just how to answer that. They had their preplanned reasons, but that story was only intended to be shared with whatever recruiters they would need to interact with. Skywarp could, potentially, become a valuable ally, but there was little in his behavior thus far to prove him trustworthy.

Whether Breakdown was rushing through the same thoughts or not, Knock Out wasn’t sure, but they both seemed to come to the same decision. Neither of them spoke up.

A teasing grin graced Skywarp’s face. “Doesn’t matter if you tell me,” he sang, “Soundwave’s going to know anyway.”

“Soundwave?” Knock Our asked, making sure he had heard right. The Decepticon Communications Officer was a well-known figure among the Autobots in Kima, more notably those still haunted by his interrogation methods.

“Yeah! He’ll know all about you the klick he meets you!”

“I thought the whole mind-reading thing was a myth?” Breakdown asked, his fear seeping into his EM field pulled tight against his frame.

Skywarp shrugged. “I got no clue, but honestly? Mech’s creepy enough to believe it.” He wiggled his free servo’s digits at them. “He knows _everything_.”

“Everything?” Knock Out asked doubtfully.

He hummed theatrically, nodding as though he knew more than he was letting on. “Still not going to tell me?” When neither ex-Autobot complied, he frowned solemnly. “That bad, huh?” Knock Out made to insist otherwise, but the seeker decided he wasn’t done speaking. “You know, _normally_ , people who come over here nowadays are really loud about it. They just go on and on and on and on about themselves.” He pulled an exaggerated face, raising his voice a few pitches. “The Autobots are so _mean_ ,” he mocked, “they wouldn’t _promote_ me or _respect_ me, but I’m _so_ much smarter than all of them!”

Taking another draw at his cube, Skywarp righted himself. “They don’t last long.”

After another beat of uncomfortable silence, Breakdown began festering in his nerves. “We have to meet with Soundwave?” When the seeker nodded, he continued. “What else?”

“An interview thing,” Skywarp answered simply. “I know you got to go to medical before we can put you in anything but, uh…” Gradually, his optics began to widen with realization. “Yeah, I don’t actually know who I take you to.”

Before either of them could dive into that bit of information, the seeker proceeded to engage in another one-sided, silent conversation with an invisible entity. Several faces and rapid gestures later, he turned back to the pair and shrugged indifferently. “I’ll just bring you Megatron, he’ll know what to do.”

Knock Out’s spark ran cold. “Megatron as in…”

Skywarp chuckled knowingly. “You know another?” Downing the remainder of his highgrade, he turned his gaze skyward. “Need my trine to go in properly. ‘Lord the Great and Powerful’ doesn’t like me very much.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Knock Out muttered, stunned into another bout of panic.

This hadn’t been the plan. Pharma had assured them they would be brought to the Decepticon base and processed into their ranks, not taken straight to the highest of high command. How were they supposed to even behave? In all their vorns with the Autobots, neither him nor Breakdown had met anyone higher in rank than the Second and Third in Command in passing and the weapons officer, and only one of those was ever cordial. Ironhide was a pleasant mech, but part of his charm was his casual nature. Who was to say anyone among the Decepticons was even remotely as friendly?

Knock Out pressed his back against Breakdown’s front, subtly completely forgone. He could feel the chill of fear radiating off his conjunx as well, and there was no stopping either of them from grasping onto the other.

Fortunately, Skywarp was giving them none of his attention. His helm was cocked back as he watched the sky, searching for something. When his face lit up, wings raising and fluttering, Knock Out braced himself for another introduction.

Two seekers slammed into the ground several paces away, transforming with a practiced ease, sunlight gleaming off their relatively clean frames. The first to rise from his crouch was a stunning tricolored mech, his reds and blues highlighting every sleek angle and striking dimension, his darker tones acting as pleasing outlines. He moved with a grace befitting his aesthetic, wings fanned out wide confidently, red eyes peering over at them as though through a lens of superiority.

The other seeker was less dramatic, rising with heavy movements and wearing a stern frown, but his blue and black frame was no less impressive. Knock Out decided to pay him less mind, though, given that the seeker’s gaze seemed to be trained on Skywarp rather than either of them.

The first seeker stalked forward into the shade cast by the towering stronghold. He opened his mouth as if to speak but his expression turning fearful stopped him, and he began to backtrack. Knock Out didn’t have time to turn around and discover just what had put the seeker on edge when Skywarp came barreling passed them, making a beeline for the other two Decepticons.

“Warp!” the seeker shouted. “Don’t! You’re filthy!”

Despite the predicament they were in, Knock Out nearly choked on laughter, a sudden jolt in Breakdown’s core suggesting his lover had done the same. Where Skywarp had a strangely high pitched deep, gravely voice, his trinemate sounded as if his vocal processer was malfunctioning.

“I’m not that bad!” Skywarp continued to approach the other seeker, grin full of mirth and hands making a grabbing motion. “Come here!”

“No!” The seeker took several steps back, curving his path so he didn’t run into his other trinemate. “Go away!”

As Skywarp made to grab at him, giggling insanely at the look of disgust his mate was sporting, the third seeker caught his arm around him, blocking him in his pursuit. The backwards hug was apparently more interesting than covering his other mate with someone else’s energon, and Skywarp twisted around to hug the seeker properly, smooshing his face into his neck.

Crisis averted, the tricolor collected himself and turned his focus back to them. His cold, penetrating eyes seemed to spot every flaw within their frames. “You two are the new recruits?”

Knock Out fought hard not to sneer back at the ugly tone. He had known plenty who despised him before, but seldom ever spoke with such a lack of affinity.

“Hi.” Breakdown shifted behind him, releasing a hand from Knock Out’s waist to wave awkwardly at the seeker. The gesture was, thankfully, ignored.

Skywarp made a trilling noise, drawing the tricolor’s gaze to him. The two traded dramatic expressions and wing gestures before the tricolor’s optics brightened with anger. With a graceful motion accompanied by an aggravated growl, the seeker spun to face the stronghold, flapping his wings out. The other seeker was quick to fall in line, Skywarp trailing just behind him. Wordlessly, they fell into a triangle formation and began walking forward in unison, Skywarp waving the pair to follow them.

After a brief glance at one another, Knock Out and Breakdown shuffled after them, hands clasped tight so as not to be separated.

They were led through what looked like a back entrance, sparsely populated and lined with rows of crates. A door seamlessly hidden within a wall slid open as they approached, revealing a small room that look barely large enough to fit all five of them without the seekers’ wings pressing against someone. They filed in obediently, none of the seekers turning around to check that they were cooperating, and the entire room began to move right as the door slid shut.

Knock Out glanced about the lift, searching for any sign of another entry and exit point aside from the one behind him. It dawned on him that they could be being lied to, and this was simply a ruse to lead him and Breakdown to a torture room. The thought had to be harshly shoved down. There was no room to doubt Pharma’s word now, they were already trapped in a packed room with three Decepticons who likely wouldn’t hesitate to kill either of them should they see fit. Banishing his anxiety was no easy thing, so he focused on his lover’s hand in his grasp, the light sound of engines humming, and the little dance Skywarp was performing to pass the time. 

As the lift’s ascent slowed, the tricolor flicked his wings at his trinemates behind him, signaling both of them to straighten, Skywarp going obediently still. The panel in front of them slid apart as the lift came to a stop, the trine walking off perfectly in sync.

Whatever his expectations for the Decepticon’s base of operations, this was not far off. The hall they were now moving through was as dark as the building’s exterior with dim overhead lighting making the entire space hazy. Still, it was better than the ungodly orange of Kima’s base.

Coming up to a large doorway, the lead seeker shifted away from the formation to enter a code into the keypad on the wall. Knock Out cycled his vents, trying not to imagine just what awaited them in the next room.

The doors split apart to reveal an open control room, the far wall made entirely of a window overlooking the valley and the battle still waging there. Standing before the scene was the dark silhouette of a massive, imposing figure. The other mechs milling about the room hardly mattered in comparison to what Knock Out was now sure was their doom. They didn’t have many options, though, so when the trine moved to meet the figure, he and Breakdown were close to follow.

“Starscream. You better have an adequate reason for disturbing me.”

Knock Out choked on his certainty, the haunting nodes in that grave voice giving no indications of leniency.

“Frag off,” the tricolor hissed. “Skywarp found some Autobot traditors. Do you _want_ me to leave them with him?”

Megatron growled at the tone, twisting ever so slightly to peer over his shoulder at the small crowd in his headquarters. Spotting the two unfamiliar mechs, he turned halfway to address them. “State your designations.”

For the briefest of moments, his own name escaped him, but he quickly steeled himself. “I’m called Knock Out.”

“Breakdown.”

Megatron nodded, glancing between Starscream and them. “You claim to have been previously affiliated with my enemies,” he said smoothly, an irritated frown forming as his gaze landed on Starscream. “I do hope that is not the only reason you have been taken here and not to the proper reassignments.”

“Of course not,” Starscream insisted, sounding forcefully innocent. He stalked to the large window, hands casually clasped behind his back in a poor imitation of the warlord’s foreboding stance. “The Wreckers weren’t expected to take part, yes?”

“Is that relevant?” Megatron asked tiredly.

Starscream recoiled in offense. “Yes! All active members made a sudden appearance, but kept to the back lines. Well, almost all active members.”

Knock Out stepped back just enough to push himself up against Breakdown, shielding what he could of his conjunx. Something in the piercing stare Megatron was now shooting their way unnerved him, to say the least.

“And you believe this larger mech to be the missing warrior?”

Starscream sneered mockingly. “ _No_ , the _speedster_. Yes, the warrior, you buffoon. He fits the profile, and I’m sure a simple reference will prove I’m right.”

Megatron turned his back on the battle outside, taking a few menacing steps towards the pair. “Say that you are, Starscream, rare as that may be.”

“I am.”

“That has yet to be proven—”

“Just look up our records!” Starscream pointed a digit at one of the terminals lining the side walls. “We can interrogate the Wrecker—”

“Shut up, you fool!”

Starscream’s eyes looked as if they might explode. “Don’t tell me to shut up! Soundwave—”

“Don’t undermine my authority!” Megatron growled at the seeker. Recollecting himself from his posturing, he turned back around to face the terminal on the other side of the room. “Soundwave, what have you found concerning these two Autobot traitors?”

Starscream muttered something sarcastic in a language Knock Out found oddly familiar. An uncomfortable chuckle from Breakdown gave him an idea of what it might be, but a figure stalking forward from his left paused his thoughts. A blue mech with a broad chest proudly displaying the Decepticon emblem moved with quiet steps towards his leader. With a short nod as a bow, he reported, “Individuals: confirmed to have been Autobots. Designation Breakdown: prominent Wrecker member. Designation Knock Out: medical officer in Kima.”

“Any intel to suggest either would consider desertion?”

Soundwave shook his helm in the negative.

“Well then,” Megatron said with a haunting grin, moving to stand closer to the pair and the seekers flanking them. “It is your word that we all must rely on. Tell me, what has convinced you both to join me?”

Calling upon their preplanned answer, Knock Out steeled his resolve and forced himself to maintain direct eye contact with the Decepticon warlord. “Our positions within the Autobots ranks have always been precarious. I was wrongly convicted for the murder of one of my patients, that finally convinced me I was on the wrong side.”

“I haven’t been good with the other Wreckers for a while now, too,” Breakdown added. “When Knock Out asked me to help him escape, I decided to join him.”

Megatron took a pause to digest this, intrigue flooding his features. “And what do you think of the Autobots now?”

Staring into those red eyes, darkened from the kind of life that knows no reprieve, Knock Out saw in them a familiarity he hadn’t seen in another mech in vorns. “Hypocrites,” he hissed, taking care to layer his voice with all the emotions he felt towards those who had wronged them.

The gamble paid off, and Megatron grinned with satisfaction. “Soundwave.” The mech in question immediately came to stand closer by his side. “What have you to say on the matter?”

“Assessment: incomplete. Permission: cassette ejection?”

Megatron peered down at him, brows furrowed. “What for?”

“Cassette: recognition.”

Megatron gestured an absentminded approval, prompting Soundwave to take several steps back. The blue mech’s chest plates shifted and transformed to open the entire area like a pocket, a dark form shooting out of it, landing gracefully on the floor.

Knock Out’s systems stalled as he immediately remembered the creature before him. Had Breakdown not been directly behind him, he might have bolted out the room, but he settled for plastering himself against his conjunx. Breakdown was quick to assist, pulling Knock Out back until his larger form was between the creature and his lover.

“I take it, then, that you have indeed met Ravage,” Megatron remarked, calm as could be. Peering down at her, he said, “Forgive me if I find it odd you recognize either of these mechs.”

Ravage creeped closer, grinning as Breakdown held him tighter. “When I infiltrated Kima vorns ago,” she explained, “I received the needed intel from a medic. He was easy to remember. It’s not common to come across someone so obviously carrying.”

Panicking, Knock Out couldn’t think of a single thing to say to either deny the horrid event entirely or explain why he would ever leave behind the youngling he clearly had. This wasn’t in their plans. They had been so certain no one here would know intimate details of their personal lives.

“He died,” Breakdown blurted out.

The room fell silent, and even the other nameless bystanders working the terminals stopped their tasks to glance over at a clearly flustered bruiser. Megatron, for his part, seemed to relax into understanding.

“Is any of what you said true, then? Or is the loss of your offspring the root of your change of spark?”

Not trusting himself to speak, Knock Out pinched Breakdown’s pelvis to urge him to continue.

“Ah…yeah, it, umm…” Breakdown fumbled under the gaze of so many strangers. “This femme died, Knock Out got accused for it, then the femme’s conjunx went after him—us.” He shifted anxiously. “Then he died. So…we left.”

Megatron turned around, a gradual motion that let him lock his gaze with Soundwave for a moment, to face his back to them, hands clasped in full view. Breakdown leaned back slightly, eyes trained on the massive cannon attached to the warlord’s arm.

“It is the innocent who pay the price of our sins,” Megatron lamented, voice low and deep with empathy. “I wish that I could express some form of shock, but I fear I have long since known of the hypocrisies you speak of under Optimus Prime’s rule. Know this, you will feel no such treacheries here so long as I reign.”

After a beat of silence persisted for few klicks, Starscream spoke up from his place still by the window. “You two are clean. Get to medical and sort yourselves out.”

“Starscream! Don’t think you can know of my intentions!” Megatron whipped around, the remnants of his glare still present. “Thundercracker. Skywarp. Take these new recruits to medbay and see to it they are given proper positions in our folds.” He looked the pair up and down, eying Breakdown with interest. “Understand, we do not abide by the same Functionalist views as the Autobots. If there is a passion you wish to entertain, now is the time for self-discovery.”

They both nodded, though Knock Out refused to separate himself from his lover seeing as Ravage was still staring him down. When the two seekers urged them to leave the room, Knock Out did so in reverse until the door shut between himself and the cassette.

“Get why you didn’t want to talk,” Skywarp said, sounding oddly serious.

Breakdown nodded at him. “It’s not something we’ll really recover from.”

“I know.” Skywarp glanced over at his silent partner before shaking himself until his smile returned. “But now you get to be on the winning team!”

Knock Out cycled his vents in an effort to calm himself, glancing over at the cheerful seeker. “That’s it, then?”

Skywarp nodded vigorously, but his trinemate frowned tiredly and corrected him with an impressive degree of patience. “You need to both be examined and choose a career. But you,” he gestured to Breakdown, “will need to undergo questioning. If you really want to join us, then you’ll need to relinquish any information you can concerning the Wreckers.”

Breakdown nodded again, but from their close proximity, Knock Out could feel the anguish seeping off him. That couldn’t be helped; they both knew this would be the case when they decided to abandon the cause.

The medical bay was several levels down, lending them both some time to come to terms with their new reality.

As they were led down another hallway, Knock Out distracted himself with the scenery. This corridor bordered the outer rim of the tower, affording the opportunity for multiple windows to span the outer wall. Off in the distance was not the valley and the battle waging within it but Cybertron’s own pristine landscape spanning out until it met the Rustic Ocean. Something in the way the sea glistened over the horizon reminded him oddly of his sons’ eyes. The same golden glow of Sunstreaker’s with that cheeky glint so closely associated with Sideswipe.

Breakdown squeezed his hand in a signal to stop before Knock Out had the chance to walk into the back of Thundercracker. When he came to his senses, the two seekers pointed at a large door in the opposite wall, a label plastered just above it in a language he couldn’t read.

“This is the medical bay,” Thundercracker explained. “Remember where this is.”

“And get used to the Tarnish.” Skywarp smirked slyly. “Autobots can’t read it, but the rest of us can!”

Breakdown made a sound of confusion. “This is Tarnish?”

“I just said that, yeah.”

He shook his head and indicated the lettering above the door. “That’s Kaonite, though.”

Both Skywarp and Thundercracker stared at Breakdown as if the bruiser was proclaiming himself a seeker, their optics wide and offended.

“You…,” Thundercracker worked his mouth around his confusion. “You can read Kaonite?”

Breakdown glanced unsurely between the seekers and the sign. “I thought I could.”

“You see the variance here?”

“Yeah, it looks weird.” Breakdown stared up at the lettering, squinting his eyes as if that would help him read it. Carefully, he began to sound out the two words scrawled across the wall until his entire frame jolted happily as the answer came to him. “It sounds like Tarnish!”

“That’s lovely,” Knock Out encouraged, not even trying to hide how few cares he could give.

Breakdown, however, looked down at him with a brilliant smile. “You don’t write Tarnish! So it’s in Kaonite!” He indicated the second word then the first, reading them out. “Place…Heal. Place of healing!”

“Yeah.” Thundercracker darted his gaze as though he were speaking to someone just behind him and struggling to be subtle about it before peering back at them. “Do other Autobots know about this?”

“About what?” Breakdown asked, genuinely confused.

Knock Out tapped his lover’s side to get his attention. “That you can read.”

“No,” Thundercracker corrected, furrowing his brow in frustration. “That you know more than just Standard.”

“ _Babe_ ,” Skywarp loudly whispered, “he looks like a miner. He’s probably from Tarn.”

Breakdown gestured with his free hand to stop that line of thought. “No, no, I’m from Velocitron.”

“Oh!” Skywarp shot them a vacant smile, shifting his eyes between them. “Well, that makes no fragging sense. Anywho!” As he swiveled around to face the medbay door and walk through it, his trinemate caught his arm to halt him. The two exchanged a fury of wing motions, Thundercracker’s face becoming stern and concerned while Skywarp just seemed annoyed. After a few klicks, Skywarp won their little battle and gleefully punched the door’s keypad.

Without further prompting, the darker seeker darted into the main room, making a beeline for the receptionist’s desk and the container sitting atop it. Thundercracker shook his helm but made no attempts to call his mate back over. Looking over his shoulder, he addressed them. “Wait in here. Soundwave should have sent a message ahead for your examinations.” Flicking the wing closest to Breakdown, his face hardened. “ _You_ will require additional questioning. No Autobot should be capable of reading our language. We need to know if there are more like you.”

Breakdown frowned worriedly but nodded, nonetheless. “I can tell you right now, I don’t know anyone who knows how to speak Tarnish let alone write it in Kaonite.”

“But _you_ do?” When Breakdown nodded, Thundercracker shifted to better face them. “Then we would like to know what of your story has led you to this knowledge.”

Knock Out felt some of his panic rise at the thought of sharing any more than they already had, but Breakdown rubbed the back of his servo comfortingly. Whatever his lover planned to say, he felt secure in doing so. That was enough for Knock Out.

By the time they were seated on one of the many benches in what looked to be the waiting room, Thundercracker was dragging Skywarp away from the container of sweets and out the door, nodding to them as he left. They were not alone, though, and several Decepticons scattered throughout the room gave the duo a cursory glance before minding their own business. Relieved to not be under anyone’s wondering eyes, Knock Out ex-vented slowly and leaned up against Breakdown’s side. The urge to close his eyes and ignore his surroundings was strong, but the need to be vigilant was far stronger. The hand still grasped in his became Knock Out’s new distraction, and Breakdown readily opened his palm to let him trace the seams adorning it.

They didn’t need to wait long. After a few breems of sitting there in silence, a mech emerged from a corridor, his optics fixated on his datapad. “New recruits, come with me.” Not waiting to see if either of them even registered his command, the mech turned right back around and walked off. Knock Out was quick to rise, pulling Breakdown to his peds in a practiced fashion so they could catch up to their guide.

“Knock Out—” the mech pointed to an open room just up ahead on their left “—and Breakdown—” he indicated the room just across the hall to the first “—Have at it.” As they approached the two doors, the mech continued about his day, stalking off down the hall.

“That would be Glit.”

Knock Out jerked at the sound of someone next to him. In the doorway to his left stood a green and violet mech about as large as Breakdown. The mech directed his gaze down to Knock Out, his expression unreadable.

“He’s the CMO.” He jerked a thumb towards himself. “I’m Hook, that one over there is Chamberlin,” he pointed across the hall to a mech standing idly in the other room who waved absently at them. Breakdown waved back, despite the mech not having looked up from the terminal he was using.

“Are you two going to move or not?” Hook asked.

“Right.” Knock Out rolled his shoulders back, releasing Breakdown’s hand reluctantly. “I’m with you then?”

Hook nodded and gestured to follow him inside. With a parting look to his tense lover, Knock Out stepped inside and headed towards the berth against the far wall.

As he watched Hook close the door and begin fiddling with a monitor, Knock Out cycled his vents to calm himself. “So,” he started, “you’re a medic.”

Hook side-eyed him, with annoyance or suspicion Knock Out couldn’t tell.

“How would one come across such a position here?” Knock Out asked, twirling a servo and turning on as suave a tone as he could muster.

“Do you have any experience?”

“I held the rank Chief of Surgery in Kima for a time.”

“That works.” Hook yanked a scanner from a cabinet and brought it over to him. “You fill out a form, and it gets approved. Simple as that.”

“Excellent.” He laid across the berth at Hook’s request, not flinching as the scanner ran over him, tingling his circuits ever so slightly. “That’s one stress put to rest.”

Hook hummed at that. “Says on the file I received that you’re an ex-Autobot. Can’t imagine the nonsense you’ve been through.”

“Well…yes,” he backtracked, thinking over what it was he ought to say. “Bit more than mere nonsense, I would say.”

At the scanner’s completion alert, Hook moved over to the terminal, assessing the results with a keen eye. When he stood straight again, a troubled frown drew all his features tense. “Copout—”

“ _Knock_ Out.”

“Whatever. You’ve carried before?”

Anxiety rising, Knock Out nodded his affirmation.

“How long ago?”

Recalling their backstory’s updated timeline, he cautiously answered, “About two decavorns ago.”

Hook swore in an unfamiliar tongue, gripping the terminal as his entire body malfunctioned from shock. “Primus below, how did someone mess up _this_ much?”

Confused, Knock Out rose to his peds, bringing the monitor into view. The results of a deep scan were displayed, showing a detailed diagram of his internals. It immediately became apparent what Hook was so concerned about. Knock Out grimaced at the sight of his gestation chamber, still not completely deflated and dawning two jagged, ugly marks from where the blade had run him clean through. As far as he had known, all his welds had healed and restored his frame to normalcy. It seemed that was far from the case.

“Right,” Knock Out said slowly, struggling to figure out just how he would explain this away.

“This can’t have been more than a vorn ago, let alone twenty.” Hook circled on the monitor with a digit the jagged lines on the chamber. “It looks like a deep stab wound that hasn’t properly healed, but that hardly explains why your chamber is still expanded like this.”

Absolutely nothing came to mind. If he told any semblance of the truth, then their story would be called into question. But even with all his experience in medicine, Knock Out couldn’t conjure another plausible explanation for what had happened to him.

Hook must have sensed his stress because he collapsed the image on the screen and faced him fully with softer eyes. “Whatever you say here is confidential. We know many who flee from the Autobots do so due to a traumatic event. That being said, I need to know what was done to you if I plan on fixing you.”

It was troubling to think of trusting a stranger, but Hook’s wording gave him pause. “I’m _that_ damaged?”

He shrugged and pulled the image back up to review it. “I mean, you won’t die, but if you ever want the chance to carry again, I may need to re-repair the welding job on your chamber.”

A torrent of difficult emotions swirled around him at the very thought of creating another life. It would certainly not happen for a long, long time given…everything. But that hardly meant never again.

Mind made up, Knock Out stared at Hook, scanning him for any falsehoods. “This…this would stay between us?”

Hook readjusted his features to appear equally serious. “Everything goes through Soundwave, but other than him, yes.”

That didn’t really help matters with all that Soundwave knew thus far. Nevertheless, Knock Out decided it was a worthwhile gamble.

“We didn’t lie,” he clarified, “our son _was_ killed.” Taking a deep in-vent, Knock Out shoved down the feeling of bile in his throat. “I was carrying him when he was. The, um…” he flicked his wrist at the image, “was the result of the stabbing that took him from me.”

The look of solidarity Hook had worn when he began speaking slowly faded away, replaced by utter confusion. “So…this was not done twenty vorns ago.”

“Well, no, I wasn’t lying about that, per se. I _did_ have a son before…all this.” Shifting uncomfortably, Knock Out looked at anything other than Hook or the terminal. “I’ve since lost both of them.”

Confusion morphed into pity, and Hook pressed his lip plates into a tight line. “My condolences. I can’t say I know what it is you’re feeling, but I do understand the need for privacy.” Glancing back at the scanner’s results, Hook cycled his vents and faced him with a brighter tone. “Other than that, though, you seem fine. We can do a quick mobility test then discuss the next steps.”

Knock Out nodded, but what was said hadn’t been fully processed. There was trickery here, certainly. It couldn’t be this simple. As he moved through the different positions according to Hook, wincing only when he bent his torso, Knock Out mulled over where the loophole must be.

A servo waving in front of his face brought him out of his troubled thoughts, and Hook seemed to comprehend that something was amiss. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“No! No.” Knock Out shook his head adamantly. “No, I just…this all a bit much.”

Hook nodded like he understood. “It’s an adjustment. Wait till you read over your health insurance. That tends to surprise you people.”

“How much is it?”

A knowing grin plastered itself across Hook’s face. “It comes with enlistment. We don’t charge our army for necessary repairs.”

Knock Out squinted his eyes at Hook in confusion. “It’s free?”

“Not exactly. You pay a flat rate for all amenities.” From a drawer, Hook procured a data pad and handed it to him. “That includes rations, entertainment facilities—few as those are—weaponry unless, of course, you want something experimental, healthcare, and so on and so forth.”

Onlining the data pad, all that Hook claimed was proven true. Figures and financial algorithms were organized on the screen, some spaces empty or requiring specificity. Knock Out selected one and a list of careers appeared with wages listed next to the names. Finding the ‘medical’ category, he selected the position of surgeon and watched as the screen adjusted to provide a projected income.

“Be sure to look through all the basic care that’s included,” Hook said, interrupting him just as he was reading through his new salary. “I’m assuming with your recent events you’ll want a baffle installed. Review the different types, and you can get it when I make corrections to your internal welds.”

“That’s not an extra cost?” he asked, searching the screen for what Hook was referring to. The medic saved him from his struggle by reaching over and clicking the tab for him, pointing to one section in particular.

“No, it’s included.” Tapping one item, Hook continued. “I recommend this one since you’re new here. It prevents energy and viral transfers. If you end up choosing just one or two partners consistently, then you can switch to this one,” he moved his digit down the screen, “that only prevents spark energy transfers.”

Knock Out scanned the list of several different types of baffles, noting the variances and durations. The second one Hook indicated didn’t seem accurate. Its short explanation claimed to almost entirely dissipate excess spark energy during merges, which alone was not especially noteworthy, but that it wasn’t a one-time use struck him as odd.

Passing a digit along the text, Knock Out asked, “Is this saying I would be given a supply that will last me five decavorns?”

“It means what it says.” Hook lifted a servo to his own chest, pointing to a place just below where his sparkchamber would be. “That one gets installed here. It’s a little monitor, essentially, that detects when there’s a certain degree of excess energy. We tune it to your spark so it will only function when you output enough to form a sparklet before it actually forms. It’s got about a 99% success rate, but if you do manage to spark with it, it won’t mess with the sparklet. Like I said, though,” he reached back over and pointed to the first baffle mentioned, “you will probably want this. We do what we can, but some mechs don’t keep up with their protections.”

Knock Out fiddled with his lip plate, debating how much he wanted to trust this mech. “No, I…I don’t plan on coercing strange mechs into my company.”

“War is stressful,” Hook reminded him. “Especially once you start actually fighting, you are going to want some form of relief, and we’d rather you frag someone safely than get an addiction.”

Shoving aside the part about joining the fray, Knock Out shook his helm. “I’ve kept to one partner for a while now and brought him here with me.”

His optics blowing wide, Hook nodded in agreement. “Then make sure the blue guy also gets the same, that’ll lower that 1% chance to about 0.01%.” When Knock Out tried to hand the data pad back, Hook refused it. “We give these to new recruits. Keep track of your finances and any jobs you do on your device. When you finish recruitment, this data pad will be accessible only to you, medical professionals, high command, and any people you specify. All your medical records will upload to it, as well, once you’re in the system.”

Knock Out stared down at the datapad, at the details of his new life and all its benefits scrolled across it. “There’s a catch here.”

“Megatron’s entire campaign revolved around the idea that he could build a better society for all people, not just the elite.” Hook gestured to the datapad held aloft in his grasp. “We aren’t fighting this war to prove we’re right.” He leaned forward, reading over what was displayed on the screen. “You’re set on remaining a surgeon?” At Knock Out’s small nod, Hook offered a small smile. “Then you’ll be working under me and Glit for a time. Once you’re in the system, you’ll be contacted about where to report. Do you have any questions?”

An overwhelming amount, but simultaneously, none at all. Not for the first time during the conversation, he felt the urge to walk across the hall and talk things over with Breakdown. That calming baritone would no doubt ground him and simplify all these new complexities. With all the expectations he had harbored, there was little room in his mind for this reality.

“So many that I wouldn’t even know how to ask them,” he answered, smirking to mask the anxiety creeping through his circuits.

Hook shrugged. “Unsurprising. When you do get confused, just ask someone. The older soldiers may be a little rough, but most anyone here wants you to feel at ease.” He stepped back, motioning to the door. “I’m done with you for now. We’ll set up a time to get those welds repaired and your baffle installed. Just go wait in the main room and an escort will bring you to the last few assessments, then you’ll be on your way.”

Rising to his peds, datapad clutched close to his person, Knock Out wandered to the door, looking back at Hook once he reached the doorway. Before he could say a word, Hook raised his servos to stop him.

“Don’t get used to this hospitality. I may have decent berthside manner, but I have high expectations for the medics under my watch.”

“Still,” Knock Out sang, shrugging a shoulder, “this is a level of kindness I’m unaccustomed to from a stranger.”

Hook’s features broke into a troubled frown before hardening again. “This isn’t just me. You are a Decepticon, now, Knock Out. You are a part of this system of people and policies built to let you succeed. Help us prove how right we are that the Autobots are in the wrong by thriving among our ranks.”

Knock Out nodded, a sly smile emerging. If he could succeed as well as he had under suppression, he could only imagine the heights he was liable to reach now. Tightening his grip on his datapad, he opened the door and fled down the corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I love feedback and gladly encourage it!
> 
> As usual, all my works exist in the same overall storyline, so feel free to read some of my other works while you wait for this fic's chapters.
> 
> I will warn that this might be slower moving than my previous multichapter works. Those of you who were with me throughout "Run Baby Run" may recall the break necking speed I was publishing that in, but I am slowing down more here. Sorry, not sorry. I do have a thesis to write.
> 
> Stay safe everyone! Stay kind!


	2. Relocation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Changes are afoot.

The Decepticon barracks were a far cry from anything the Autobots would have approved of. The section he had been assigned appeared to be one large, dimly lit room crowded with people and berths.

Breakdown stopped just inside the doorway, the overwhelming number of optics glancing over at him preventing his body from so much as twitching. If he could just make out a glint of that familiar red, he might find it in him to move. But as his eyes scanned the room, his mind reeled through a million fears. They were placed in separate barracks. Or perhaps, Decepticon High Command realized there were holes in their story and chose Knock Out as their first target. An even worse thought, one of these strangers had harmed him or—

“Breakdown!”

Someone calling his name barely registered, but that voice immediately put all his worries to rest. Searching more frantically, Breakdown scanned the crowd to no avail.

Just as he was preparing to call out to his lover, a hand clasped his shoulder, turning him around and pinning him in place. A mech at least a head taller than him jerked his chin in his direction, a question in his eyes. “You that Breakdown mech?”

He hesitated, nervous for a moment that any personal information he gave away freely might be used against him. But at the sound of Knock Out calling out to him again, he couldn’t fight the urge to twist his head around and search for the voice’s source.

“Figured,” the mech muttered, “new recruits are jumpy.” The hand loosened to clap the shoulder with enough force to mark the gesture as meaningful. “Red mech is over there. By the windows.”

Breakdown followed where the mech was pointing to the wall furthest from the entrance, lined periodically with large windows. With the lights dimmed, it was easy to see through the glare to Cybertron’s night sky, but it made spotting that bright red finish a little harder. But sure enough, there his lover was, standing in a small pocket of space framed by the sky, waving him over.

When he and Knock Out finally locked eyes, Breakdown nodded at the stranger, reaching out a hand to be taken. “Thank you, mech.”

The ‘Con released his shoulder to take the offer. “Not the only one who sticks with a buddy. Welcome to the cause.” Releasing the hand after a parting squeeze, the stranger turned around to return to a group of comrades.

Breakdown didn’t waste time mulling over the exchange, pinned in his path towards Knock Out. Once they were close enough, he took Knock Out’s hand in his own and gripped it like a lifeline. His lover laughed humorlessly but made no attempts to free himself.

“Shaken up, I take it?”

Breakdown shook his helm, casting a glance about the rest of the room before he spoke in a hushed voice. “Just stressed.”

The faux grin adoring Knock Out’s face slipped ever so slightly. “Understandable,” he agreed, tone equally low. “A lot has happened.”

“Bit of an understatement.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to say?” He cycled his vents, resetting his tone before he let his agitation loose. “Look on the bright side, Breakdown. We’re in a better situation.”

“I guess,” he muttered, taking to peering out the window to avoid the others in the room. Cybertron seemed hushed, tired and dreary like Sunstreaker at the end of a long day. “I mean, it’s better than the alternative, I know, it just…it’s just a lot.”

“I know,” Knock Out signed and squeezed the hand he held.

Breakdown nodded along as Knock Out continued talking, but he didn’t actually hear much of what was said. The window he made to lean against had what seemed to be a locking mechanism on the seal, but fiddling with it proved the latch to be firmly in place.

“Breakdown?”

Jolting back to attention, he made a confused sound.

“What did you choose? For your career?”

“Oh!” He shifted uncomfortably. “Put myself down as a soldier. You chose a doctor thing as your field?”

Knock Out hummed happily. “I spend a bit in residency just to have my skills checked, then I’m a surgeon once again.” After a short pause, he asked pointedly, “Did you look through other options?”

Breakdown didn’t answer right away, just pushed harder on the latch. “No…but what else would I do?”

“I don’t know…tactics maybe? You like strategy games.”

“I’d get stressed.”

“Engineering or something, then?”

Breakdown broke his staring contest with the latch to share his unamused expression with his conjunx, who just sneered right back.

“What’s so wrong with that?”

“I’m not that smart.”

“I’m certainly no genius, either, but here I am,” Knock Out jeered, throwing up his free servo in a dramatic gesture. “I simply meant that you could have chosen something else.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, peering back out at Cybertron’s landscape and the stars gleaming down with a cheeky glint.

They remained in that quiet state with only the late conversations of the other mechs in the barracks to serve as some kind of noise until Knock Out spoke up again.

“What’s wrong?”

There wasn’t a good answer for that. They had done what was necessary, just not what was comfortable. The conversations he had with the recruiters played over and over again in his mind along with every small detail he had given away.

“Do…do you think this was a mistake?”

Breakdown shot a worried look at his lover, barely taking in the panic in his crimson eyes before assuring him. “No! No, we did the right thing…I think. I just…” He shuffled uncomfortably on his peds. “It felt weird telling them everything.”

Knock Out’s entire body noticeably relaxed. “The Wreckers are a hard unit to take down. I’m sure even with every _single_ detail you know about each of them, they would still be difficult to best.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, speaking to himself as much as to Knock Out. “Besides, with me MIA, they’re going to change all the codes anyway. Told these guys as much, too.”

“See?” Knock Out sang. “Nothing to worry about. Now, we can focus on much more profitable ventures.”

Breakdown’s grin at his cute tone gradually fell as Knock Out removed a datapad from subspace and onlined it. A grid appeared on the screen, numbers and figures scattered about displaying stats Breakdown couldn’t begin to comprehend. When Knock Out let go of his hand to offer it palm up, he stared at him in confusion.

“Your datapad,” Knock Out clarified, twirling his servo in emphasis.

“Oh!” He reached down to recover said item from his own subspace and readily handed it over. Watching Knock Out scan the two screens for a moment, a thought occurred to him. “Those things keep track of everything about us, right? Like our records, but we get to hold on to it?”

Knock Out hummed distractedly. “That seems to be the idea.”

He shuffled closer to see the screens more clearly. “You’re looking at what we’ll make?”

“I’m thinking.”

Breakdown let his discomfort fester as another moment passed, but the oddity wouldn’t leave him. “Since when do you care?” When all he got was a questioning hum, he pointed to the screen of his datapad. “About our finances?”

“I’ve always kept track of this,” Knock Out said dismissively. “And since we’re starting out here with less than we had when we joined the Autobots, I think at least one of us should know what we stand to gain.”

The thought of Knock Out actually meaning that to any significant extent settled oddly his mind. “You didn’t care when we joined the Autobots. And we lived in a dump before that.”

Knock Out frowned but didn’t look up from the screens, stubbornly continuing to read.

“Babe,” he whispered, leaning in closer to make sure no one else heard him. “Is this a distraction or for real? We can find a way to _talk_ talk if you need.”

Knock Out shook his helm, a jerking motion hindered by some pint up emotion. “I had to tell the medic overseeing me about him. My welds haven’t healed quite right, so Hook offered to repair them.”

Understanding washed over him, the explanation not a surprise but no less impactful. It was easier, in a way, for him to push aside any complicated emotions surrounding their lost son, but Knock Out had known him more than anyone ever would. Breakdown was dealing with his own grief, but he knew Knock Out was experiencing a kind of loss they were not prepared to comprehend, let alone overcome.

“I’m sorry,” he said, because he had no good words to say.

Knock Out flashed an empty smile, setting one datapad in the crook of his arm so he could reach up and grasp his chin. “Nothing on you, I just didn’t care for all the reminders. Not from _you_ , I mean, just the whole…situation.”

“Still,” Breakdown huffed, suddenly feeling weighted down. “I don’t want you to think I didn’t think you cared or something. I just wasn’t thinking.”

The corners of Knock Out’s mouth raised gently into something more genuine. “If I were free of prying eyes, I’d kiss you till you stopped your worrying,” he purred. “I’m fine, I promise.”

Breakdown gave a short huff, not believing that for a moment and with good reason. Peering down into his conjunx’s bright eyes, he could see the turmoil in them. The doubts and the grief he still held on to. “You tell me when you’re not, though.”

Knock Out pulled his features into a tight grin. “I highly doubt I’ll ever actually ‘be fine’. Just let me distract myself.” He twirled on his heels with an elegant motion, dismissively waving his concerns away. “How about we start anew in the morning? Put this entire cycle behind us!”

As Knock Out made his way to the nearest unoccupied berths, Breakdown glanced around the room again, taking in the sights of various mechs beginning to doze off while others continued about their nights. The place Knock Out had evidently secured was relatively free of those still wide awake. Up against a wall, surrounded by only a few other occupants, several berths laid scattered like they had been discarded as people rearranged the room.

His lover brushed off a berth before collapsing into it, but Breakdown hesitated to join him. They had needed caution before, but it was difficult to forget vorns of climbing in next to one another, of sharing a space that was no one else’s but theirs.

“Breakdown?”

Snapping out of his reminiscing, he realized he was still awkwardly standing over the berth. “Yeah?”

Knock Out extended a hand out, gesturing to the others in the barracks. “Something tells me we won’t stand out much here.”

Curious, Breakdown furrowed his brow and looked around once more, focusing on the other individuals. Most kept to themselves or small groups, but no small amount existed in pairs. Two mechs laid soundly in recharge a few paces away, curled up against one another. Within one of the crowds, a mech had his arm wrapped around another, their hips and sides practically conjoined.

“Just how close we are, no one needs to know. But I’m starting to doubt anyone will ask.” Knock Out shifted to the edge of the berth and patted the empty space absently.

Breakdown didn’t need much convincing. Gently, trying to be mindful of his lover’s soreness and the small space, he climbed in and fit his front flush against Knock Out’s with his back shoved against the wall. The frame he held felt tense at first, but the longer he ran his hand up and down the tense plating of his back, the more Knock Out eased into him.

Snaking an arm around his waist, Knock Out pulled himself closer until his face found the space between Breakdown’s chest and abdomen that let him become enveloped by the larger frame. “I needed this,” he muttered into the plating.

“Me too.” He stopped his idle stroking to grasp at Knock Out’s hip, his other arm awkwardly stretched out like he didn’t know what to do with it until he pulled it under his helm. “When do you need to be up?”

The question got him a snarky laugh. “Why? _You_ plan on waking us?” Knock Out shifted to peek his face into Breakdown’s view, his fond smirk evident in the way he eyes narrowed around a soft glint.

Breakdown smiled lightly. “Why would you ever think that?” He waited for Knock Out to collect himself from the short laugh that escaped him before clarifying. “I have to go through more interviews. Wanted to know if you had to be up, too.”

“Leagues ahead of you,” Knock Out sang, shuffling to fit himself back in his place against Breakdown’s front. “Already noticed on your datapad what time your little interrogations started and set an alarm. I have to report there a little later than you, but there’s no reason we can’t both walk together.”

“Sounds good to me,” he agreed and squeezed Knock Out a little tighter. “Try to actually recharge.”

Another laugh, this one softer and lacking his earlier humor. Knock Out had to know that hardly sounded convincing, so Breakdown didn’t bother to call him out. Their nights had become restless as it was, and this new place filled with stranger’s eyes wouldn’t help matters.

Recharge felt too far away to catch it, so Breakdown let his gaze wander the barracks. A few paces away laid another sleepless mech, his gaze set on the ceiling. Someone was stretched comfortably across him, his entire arm from the shoulder down completely missing, and Breakdown watched as the mech traced the seams of his slumbering partner. Moments passed before the ‘Con seemed to realize he was being watched and his gaze fell to him.

They stared at one another, a stagnate energy clear in the mech’s features, until the mech flicked his gaze between Breakdown and Knock Out snuggled in his arms. For a moment, he wasn’t quite sure what that was meant to mean, but he nodded at him then inclined his chin at the injured mech sleeping atop him. When the stranger nodded again, knowingly with a smooth, obvious motion, something clicked. His understanding of the connection they had just established must have been clearly drawn across his face because the mech grinned at him and visibly relaxed.

The silent agreement settled uncomfortably in his thoughts. He knew nothing about either of the strangers save that they were locked to one another in some similar way to him and his conjunx, but there wasn’t the usual hesitation he felt when agreeing to something uncertain. Maybe it was the gentle way the pair rested together or the vulnerability in the mech’s eyes. Or maybe it was the memory of those first few cycles as an Autobot, being cast about between various recruiters and generals with nothing more than a numerical ID and jammed comms, that made the exchange all the more significant.

Regardless, Breakdown couldn’t find it in him not to trust his new comrade. He held Knock Out close, ignoring the sting of claws digging into his plating throughout the night, as he watched over his lover and the couple recharging not far from them. And when the other mech woke joors later, Breakdown let sleep wash over him, an emerging sense of safety confirmed with a simple exchange of nods.

His audials pounded under the blaring assault, disturbing what was already a difficult sleep. After cycles of relative peace during the night, the sudden alarm raised more questions than a reaction. That was, until someone shoved their berth.

Knock Out flailed ungracefully to stay in place, but his front ultimately collided with the floor, sending his middle into a mess of aches and internal pains. When he twisted to confront the idiot, all protests died at the sight of a drawn, serious expression on the stranger.

“Get up. We’re leaving.”

The tone left no room for questioning, and Knock Out was on his peds as quick as his body let him. “Wher—” A grating noise resonated through the overhead speakers, echoing throughout the barracks. It was then the chaos of the rest of the room came into view. Mechs were rushing about to gather valuables and wake others as everyone flooded out into the hall.

“Base is evacuating,” the mech explained, shaking the berth again. “Wake your partner. We all need to leave.”

For a moment, as the alarm faded before swelling again, Knock Out simply stood there, idly watching a stranger’s futile efforts to disturb Breakdown, and tried to process what was happening. He didn’t know anything about either side’s current hold over the area, but the Autobots being prepared enough to launch a full assault on the stronghold hadn’t crossed his mind.

“Hey!” The shout snapped him out of his daze and turned his focus back to the mech at the end of the berth. “Is he dead?”

Knock Out stared at him perplexed before realizing what he meant. It was an understandable mistake given the state Breakdown was in. A sense of urgency washed over him, so he quickly grabbed at the seams on his conjunx’s sides and dug his digits in between the plating. Breakdown shifted lazily, but his eyes peeked open enough to spot him, a small smile splitting across his face.

“Get up right now,” Knock Out urged, digging his digits into the protoform again for emphasis as the alarm blared overhead.

The sleepy grin morphed into a gentle frown before Breakdown’s face lit up with alertness. He rolled off the berth and was alert without further prompting, whipping around when the stranger swore behind him.

“Follow me,” he ordered, already moving into the flow of people. “New recruits get sent away from the fight. Just get to the hanger and board the ship, you’ll get to go back to recharge there.”

The words hardly processed into anything meaningful. There was still that siren sounding off even in the hallway, and with so many people racing passed them, it was a struggle just to stay near their impromptu guide. With every soldier that bumped into him, Knock Out would have been entirely stopped in his tracks had Breakdown not been right behind him to physically push him forward.

By some miracle, the hanger eventually came into view. The massive door that, for the past few cycles, had spanned the expanse of the center wall was now retracted into the ceiling, affording an unobstructed view of the hanger bay. 

A hand grasped his shoulder and dragged him close. “Over there,” the mech said, indicating with a servo people gathered near the center edge of the hanger. “Pay attention to which ship to board. You don’t want to get deployed. Stay with the injured and newbies.”

Knock Out nodded, but the mech didn’t give him the slightest chance to say a word before taking off towards the launch pad and the smaller fighter planes docked there.

“What?” Breakdown shouted over the noise. “He tell you where to go?”

Rather than shout back, Knock Out grabbed his hand and yanked him towards the growing group. They broke out into light jog at first, but when one of the three ships ahead of them took off, panic jolted them into a sprint.

They weren’t the only ones. Mechs rushed about, some barely avoiding slamming into them as their paths crossed. Breakdown clung to his hand, tugging when he noticed a possible collision but otherwise blindly racing after him. Their momentum was thrown, though, when the entire tower shook, knocking them and several other mechs nearby to the floor.

As much as he wanted to glance over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of what might be going on, the need to be somewhere far away from this won over. The fresh welds in his abdomen burned, but Knock Out leapt back to his peds despite the pain and pulled on his lover’s arm to hurry their standing. Breakdown’s weight resisted his desire to flee, but he eventually rose all the same and obediently followed after him. 

His body didn’t stop racing until they were surrounded by the others in their group, his spark continuing to fluctuate even after an officer called for them to confirm who they were. Looking over at his lover, Breakdown didn’t seem any better. His eyes were still blown wide and filled with a disoriented vacancy.

A few klicks passed before the tower shook again, the vibrations giving off an even more precarious feeling this close to the edge.

Now that they were where they needed to be, curiosity took a hold of him. He turned around to face the clear view of the valley and the battle that ought to be waging there. But rather than thousands hurling themselves into a death match, Knock Out only saw one person.

Standing taller than the valley walls, a mech with a black chest and helm situated proudly among a blue torse and white limbs was walking steadily towards them. There was absolutely no way Knock Out knew him, but that didn’t stop the feelings of familiarity from rising. Something in the way he carried himself, in the detailing adoring his arm…

“Oh frag,” Knock Out muttered.

Breakdown squeezed his loose hand in question. “Wha—oh.”

Defensor raised their servos to stretch them out in front of themselves, aiming their palms straight at the tower. From their forearms, twin cannons shifted into view along with the blue glow of the weaponized energon within them. They took their shot with deadly accuracy despite their distance down the valley, the blast striking some lower level hard enough to shift the structure into a permanent lean.

The force sent many to their knees, Knock Out among them. A yelp escaped him as his middle screamed from the abuse, but there wasn’t anything he could do to end it. When he finally collected himself and made to turn back to Breakdown, a stranger stood before him on wobbly limbs.

“This slag is out of control,” the mech muttered.

Knock Out made to politely agree and negotiate his lost position but was cut off by a hard shove to his right shoulder.

“Move.”

Twisting around to glare at whoever had the audacity to treat him so harshly proved to be useless as this mech only pushed him again. This time, Knock Out could see where to.

“Wait,” he protested. “Wait, I need to check—”

“Stop talking and move. Have you not seen that thing heading towards us?”

“No, I have,” he assured, digging his heels into the floor even as the mech carried on by pushing him forward. “No, I need to be with someone.”

“Comm them later, now come on!”

“I’m new! I don’t have that set up!” Knock Out flipped around so he was shoving his front into the stubborn mech’s to push back, giving the resistance as much strength as he could. But this mech wasn’t having it.

“Would you just—!”

“I’m separated!” someone yelled from behind him. “Wait, I need to be over there!”

“For the sake of—just get in the ship! Figure it out when you get to Tarn!”

“Not if they aren’t going there too!”

The immovable force Knock Out was pushing against suddenly yielded under the aid of another. The mech stumbled backward a few steps to recover from the push, leaving Knock Out to fall face-first to the floor had something not caught him. A hand pulling at the sensitive space between his winglets was hardly ideal, but that was the least of his worries.

“Look!” the mech shouted at them. “Each ship can only hold so many! I can’t just let you two take off with them!”

“Wait! Don’t go, yet!”

Knock Out nearly let out an unattractive noise at the sound of Breakdown yelling. From the other group actively trying to board the second ship, his lover was running past another stubborn guard alongside a mech missing his entire right arm.

“What?” the guard yelled back, sounding somewhere between panicked and exacerbated.

“Trade off!” Breakdown suggested, gesturing to his companion. “Red guy comes with me—”

“And I go with my partner,” the one-armed mech finished, indicating the mech still holding Knock Out by the scruff bar.

The guard waved the exchange away with a frantic motion. “Sure! I don’t care, just switch and evacuate!”

“Thank you,” the mech holding him sighed.

Knock Out couldn’t help the squeak he made as he was lifted in the air and practically thrown into Breakdown’s arms. Hands worried over him despite him batting them away, Breakdown’s quick assessment paused only to nod thoughtfully at the mech who’d handled him.

Opportunity not to be wasted, Breakdown was swift to simply carry him back towards their correct boarding group. Another blast slammed into the tower, the tremor ending with both of them on the floor once more.

His struggle to sit up and eventually stand paused at the sounds of two jet engines overhead. Instead of an air assault, though, a green mech fell from above onto the platform, rolling across the hanger from the inertia. When he finally came to a stop, the mech leapt to his peds and began yelling furiously at the tricolor seeker landing gracefully several paces in front of him.

“Quit whining Hook!” Starscream screeched back, voice well above the noise of the hanger. “You three join the others.”

Falling into a controlled landing, a blue seeker lowered himself just behind Hook with a green mech in each hand. The matching mechs immediately sprinted towards the smaller group gathered on the ledge closest to the valley and the advancing combiner. From their position, Knock Out couldn’t fully make out just who was there, but he could clearly see three more mechs similar to Hook standing beside the hulking grey mass that was Megatron.

“Decepticons!” the deep, booming voice cried out. “Continue your retreat! And remain clear of the area!”

Knock Out rose at the command and moved to grab some part of Breakdown to haul upward. But the entire hanger seemed to grow still as three of the green mechs positioned themselves at the ledge, backs turned to the others racing towards them, looking for all the world like they intended to ram into them and go flying off the edge. Instead, as the gaps between them closed, all six began to morph.

Transformations were no uncommon thing. Trivial, in fact. But there was nothing familiar in this sequence. Each mech shifted their forms not into anything vaguely resembling something functional but into interlocking segments that collided effortlessly with one another. The resulting mass toppled over the edge, but not a klick later, a massive helm peeked over it. Enormous red eyes gave Megatron and his seekers a cursory glance before the combiner locked their sight on the enemy in the valley and made to rush them.

Breakdown, evidently, took that as their cue to get out of there, scoping him up into his arms and running towards their assigned ship without warning. Much as he agreed with the leaving part, something in Knock Out’s spark stung with every step they took away from the scene.

Memories of First Aid chatting idly about his brothers flooded his mind, and Knock Out scoured them for any mention of his friend’s placement in Defensor, to no avail. That was one aspect of his life Aid never wanted to call special attention to, so Knock Out had never asked. As he watched the green Decepticon combiner lunge at Defensor, cocking a servo back to drive it into the Autobot’s helm, his spark constricted around all the questions he’d left unasked and the goodbye he avoided saying.

He clung to Breakdown’s front, his middle plagued by a stabbing pain and his spark torn over what to feel.

They were hurried into the shuttle, and no sooner had they boarded, they were taking off. The space slowly filled with a thick sense of anxieties not yet resolved, everyone idly standing around not knowing what to make of the new situation.

Breakdown didn’t seem as struck and maneuvered the stationary people to find an unoccupied bench along the shuttle’s wall. Knock Out braced himself as his lover, with him still in his arms, sat down and began to fuss over him again.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, too distracted by his thoughts to really notice how much he was hurting.

“You got banged around a lot,” Breakdown pointed out. “Do you feel like the welds reopened?” Knock Out shook his helm, burying his face in Breakdown’s chest. At least for the moment, that seemed to satisfy his lover, so he relaxed in his arms, content to ignore his troubles for as long as he could. But the relative peace only lasted for a few breems.

“Is he injured?” someone asked in a calm voice.

“Ah…kind of.” Breakdown shifted in discomfort, jostling him slightly. “He had a surgery last cycle. Think he hurt something.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Knock Out muttered tensely, hardly convincing anyone.

“Lay out on the bench so I can scan you,” the mech ordered. “It won’t take long.”

Despite his protests, Breakdown rose and set him back down as he was told. His lover stood awkwardly next to the mech as the scanner did its job and not-so-subtly peered over his to read the results.

“No internal leaks from what I can see,” the mech determined, “but I imagine your insides are agitated. Stay laying down for now. You can be properly assessed in Kaon.”

Knock Out nodded but his focus was on his lover’s face. He watched as Breakdown stared down at the scanner’s image until the mech walked away, a troubled expression tensing his features.

“Hey,” he called softly, reaching out a servo for Breakdown to grasp. His lover stiffly dropped to his knees beside him and accepted the offer.

Breakdown didn’t say anything for a time, just pressed his face into the back of his hand. The gesture didn’t settle well in him, though, reminding Knock Out far too much those first few moments of wakefulness decacycles ago. Emerging from stasis, believing for a moment what had happened was nothing but a vivid nightmare, only for his fears to be confirmed by the way Breakdown had looked at him, had held him. There had been such grief and pity written across his face that his emptiness seemed to widen.

His eyes shut firmly, blocking out that awful expression his lover wore once more. If he closed them tight enough, he might even block out the memories. If he focused on the pain enough, he might forget what was happening to his friend.

The faintest sense of another consciousness brushed against his. In his haze, Knock Out hadn’t noticed opening his side of the bond with the twins, cracking just enough for them to know he was distressed. He could sense Sideswipe banging against the walls he’d constructed as Sunstreaker held a constant light pressure. There was little point in keeping them away, so he let himself go, trying to hold back the few emotions even he wasn’t prepared to process.

There was a sort of peace to laying there enveloped by the people he loved most in this life. He let them know where he and their sire were going, and the twins in turn relayed to him a conversation they had with Prowl and Jazz. It was difficult to imagine them anywhere else but Kima, but Knock Out couldn’t really argue with the decision to move them to Iacon. The twins would benefit from a new environment free of the memories residing in Kima, mad as they clearly were about it all.

Whether the two knew it would help distract him or they simply needed to vent, a stream of complex emotions flooded him, waiting for advice on how to process them. This, he could handle. He couldn’t work through his own troubles, but he could help his sons come to understand where their anger was directed as he laid there, idly waiting to land in Kaon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I thrive on feedback, so let me know what you think!
> 
> Stay safe! Stay kind!


	3. Puppeteers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new Decepticon enters the scene, an Autobot inserts himself, and a philosophical discussion takes place. Also, Skywarp is back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pretty dialogue heavy chapter, but the next one will kick start a few things.

“You.”

Knock Out didn’t look up, just lifted his gaze from inspecting his hand to the form that had appeared next to him.

“You’re new, aren’t you?”

The voice was distinctively arrogant, so he was sure this wasn’t someone he had met yet. Unsurprising, given how massive Kaon was, but people rarely approached him.

“Hello? Do you have hearing loss?”

“Yes.”

The mech snorted. “Real original.”

Knock Out finally raised his helm so the mech could see the smirk he was sporting. “Can I help you?” he purred, not hiding the flare of annoyance.

The mech grinned right back and leaned forward, bending at waist where his servos were firmly planted. “It’s more how _I_ can help people like you.”

“Excuse me?” Knock Out let his features fall into whatever form of offended he was feeling. Not angry, at least not yet, but certainly struck.

“Swindle!” The mech stuck a servo out to him. “Your local buyer and seller of all things every new recruit might need!”

The arm hung there awkwardly and alone as Knock Out just stared at the mech’s stupid grin, unamused. “ _Really_ , now?”

“You can bet!” Swindle returned the arm to it’s place at his hip, no less cheerful. “I am your one-stop-shop for all your needs!”

“The _only_ one?” Knock Out sneered. “I doubt that.”

“No, no.” He lifted the hand again, this time to wave a digit at him in the negative. “One. Stop. Shop. Not the only one who does business, of course. But! I _am_ the only one who has just about everything!”

“Medical supplies?”

Swindle’s grin cracked for a brief moment. “No. No, nothing so war-related. More like...everyday goods.” He rose to his full height and motioned to Knock Out. “You seem like a well-kept mech! What’s your brand?”

Knock Out looked down at himself and his mildly roughed frame, then ran his gaze across Swindle and his abomination of a color scheme, a gaudy shade of yellow with black and purple detailing. “I think I’ll pass.”

“Nonsense!” Swindle reached into a subspace compartment, pulling out a rather large case that he threw to the ground. The sound turned many heads in the room in their direction—and numerous snickers once they realized who was there. As Swindle crouched over the case and began rummaging through it, Knock Out rose a little from his seat to see the entryway. No Breakdown, yet.

“Here we are!” Swindle rose with two different containers in each hand. “These are my top sellers.”

Knock Out fought to contain his smirk. “I’m not green.”

“No, the _brands_ ,” Swindle corrected, his voice beginning to waiver. “These are my top _brands_. I have other colors.”

If he was being honest, the two options were fairly high end. Even with their new financial situation, though, neither were close to anything he’d be willing to part with. “Not quite what I’d spend on paint.”

“Too much? Understandable.” He moved back to the case, returning with two more options. “These are my own versions of the same paint. Coris will sell for around 200 credits for one container that may last you a few orns, but _mine_ I sell for 20 creds a can and is guaranteed to last over a vorn!”

Knock Out looked over both, ignoring the ridiculous label with Swindle’s face. The colors were the same shades as the first two options, but they seemed shiner. When he made to handle one, which Swindle gladly handed him, the contents swirled far too easily.

“You like it?”

“What’s in it?”

Swindle’s grin brightened, and he stood up a little straighter. “You see, most paints are very chalky and thick. They need a heavy coat to cover the frame just right. But _my_ paint is infused with additives that thins the paint just enough to make it worth your money and your time.”

Knock Out shook the container hard enough so Swindle could hear the sloshing. “This is oil. You mixed oil in with the expensive brands no one here will buy.”

Everything about Swindle went from easy and relaxed to completely stiff. “No. No, I didn’t.”

Ex-venting, Knock Out tossed the paint to him and leaned back on the bench nonchalantly. “You do this to all new recruits?” he asked smoothly with a knowing grin.

Swindle just frowned at him before stomping back to his case and retrieving another container. Just as he was about to call him off, the mech held up a hand to silence him. “It takes knowing what’s good to know how to rip people off.” He flipped the container around until the label was in full view. “This is actually pretty good. I have another competitor that’s similar, but I find this one applies nicer.”

Intrigued, Knock Out sat up to inspect it, recognizing the brand and finish as one he used to favor when they lived in Iacon. “Are you going to sell me this fairly?”

He cycled his vents before nodding. “So, you know a thing or two. Fine. That makes business even easier if you know exactly what you want.”

With a grin, Knock Out said, “Great! Do you have a crimson shade? If I remember correctly, the ID number was 45.”

Swindle forced a smile, returning to the case to sift through it’s contents. “Number 54,” he corrected, raising the container into view. “Need applicators? Buffers, perhaps?”

After a few breems, Knock Out had to admit he was excited. On the floor laid several brushes, three buffers of different sizes, two containers of his base paint, one of his gold, three of a blue color paired with a can of grey, and a can of white and one of orange. For a klick, it actually appeared he would be getting a great deal for his favorite luxury.

“So,” Swindle said, pointing to each item like he was counting them. “That’s around...800 for everything.”

“Are you suggesting I can’t do basic math?”

Swindle vented again, a strain entering his voice. “50 for each can, 200 for the buffer set, and 50 for the brushes.”

Truth be told, he had absolutely no clue what that totaled to. Knock Out hummed, though, like he was adding it up himself. “650.”

“No, no.”

“650 or I won’t buy a thing.”

“The total is 810, mech. I can’t change that.”

“I’d do 675 if you threw in that nice polishing cloth.”

“No, this isn’t a haggling business! The total is 820, and that’s that!”

“Thought it was 800?” Knock Out asked innocently, smiling up at the mech as sweet as he could.

Swindle seemed on the verge of breaking again, his eyes bright and body tense. “Fine. Here’s the deal.” He reached into his subspace, pulling out another case about the size of his hand. “I like doing business with you. I’d like to do business again. So, you can come to me for paint, or you can buy it for more elsewhere. But I assure you,” he opened the case and took out one of the objects, “no one else sells these.”

Knock Out didn’t have to take time for deliberation. “No.”

“Listen,” Swindle insisted, “war is stressful, and this helps many, many people. This goes for about 50 a pack, so I’ll give you the paint, the cloth, and this free sample all for 750.”

“The only drugs I handle nowadays are medicinal. I’ll take the deal minus the gliss for 700.”

“725 if you accept the sample.” Swindle grinned politely. “It’s a fair deal. Not like you have to use it,” he twirled the cod in his servo, “just take it.”

Knock Out glanced between the polishing cloth, Swindle, and the little silver rod he held. “Take it that’s illegal?”

“Legal to own, legal to sell,” Swindle assured. “Only regulation is quantity. Something I might be able to work around for you in the future.”

Glancing back at the expensive cloth he had set aside earlier, he made up his mind. “Deal. 725 for the cloth, all this,” he gestured to his pile, “and your ‘free’ sample.”

“Excellent!” Swindle handed over the small rod and began collecting his own things.

Knock Out didn’t waste time mulling over it, shoving the cod in subspace before collecting his new wares. Once the floor was once again cleared and Swindle was paid, the mech’s suave grin returned.

“Remember to come to me when you need just about anything,” Swindle reminded him, offering up his hand to take.

This time, Knock Out took it, locking their forearms together for a moment. “Of course,” he said smoothly, if with a tinge of sarcasm. “Pleasure meeting you.”

Swindle just nodded at him tersely before heading off into the crowd of other Decepticons. Knock Out watched curiously as some mechs made to move away from the yellow mech while others waved him over.

Sitting back down on the bench against the far wall, he checked his chronometer. Almost half a joor now he’d been waiting here. At this point, Breakdown would only have about twenty breems with him before he needed to report back to the medbay. Knock Out shoved aside the disappointment. It was out of Breakdown’s control when the interviews would end, but that didn’t make the brief alone time any easier.

Fortunately, the wait didn’t last much longer. When Breakdown finally enter the canteen, he made a beeline for him, a massive grin plastered across his face. Knock Out let himself be lifted into strong arms, wrapping his legs around his lover’s waist as much as he could.

“Went well, I take it?”

Breakdown ex-vented in relief. “Command cleared me. Said I could start training next cycle and be combat ready by next orn.”

The smile he dawned felt forced, as happy as he was that the Decepticons no longer held suspicions of them. “Wonderful, babe.”

“It’s weight off me, you know?” Breakdown set him down, smile not faltering. “You get a ration yet?”

“No, but I did end up with a few things.”

As they made their way to the short line in front of the counter, Breakdown looked down at him in question. “Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere,” he answered. “Have you heard of Swindle, yet?”

His lover thought over the name for a moment before shaking his helm. “Not that I can remember.”

“Swindle?” The mech in front of them turned around, his face twisted in confusion.

“About this tall,” Knock Out waved a hand a head or so taller than himself, “yellow, annoying face.”

“No, I know him,” the mech said. “What kind of slag did he pull on you?”

“Is he shady?” Breakdown asked, voice hushed and filled with worry.

“Just a fool,” Knock Out waved off.

The mech laughed heartily. “A fool with a smile. Watch his mouth, too.”

Breakdown screwed his face into a goofy smirk. “You tell him off?” A sly grin was all the answer he needed, and a laugh filled with pride spilled out of him. “What you get out of him?”

Grabbing the energon cube off the counter as the line moved forward, Knock Out answered, explaining the strange interaction. By the time Breakdown had grabbed his own cube and they were out the door, he had gone over the entire conversation. “So,” he concluded, taking a sip from his cube, feeling quite proud, “I now have enough for repaints for both of us, a new set of buffers and brushes, _and_ a nice polishing cloth.”

Breakdown revved his engine excitedly. “Know what we’re doing later!” As he downed his cube, a thought visibly crossed his mind. “This Swindle mech only sell paint stuff?”

The smaller case and its contents came to mind, but Knock Out decided there was no need to alert his lover to unimportant matters. “He claims to have a great deal of ‘everyday’ items. Whatever that means.”

Breakdown just shrugged. “No clue.”

Discomfort tingled down his spine, so Knock Out took another slow sip, thinking of a way to change the subject. “So, the interrogation went well?”

“Yeah! They mostly just wanted to know how tight I was with my unit and what other languages I speak.”

“Were they really _that_ perturbed with someone knowing...which was it?”

“Tarnish,” Breakdown answered, then made a noise that vaguely sounded like an ‘I don’t know’. “They didn’t like someone not from Tarn or Kaon or the ‘Cons speaking it, I think.”

“An exclusive group, it seems.”

Breakdown frowned and shook his helm. “Seems more like a paranoia thing.” After a beat, he tapped Knock Out’s hand. “Doctor stuff still good?”

Knock Out cringed, finishing his cube before answering. “Glitch still doesn’t care for me.”

“Glit?”

“Whatever.” He weaved his digits with Breakdown’s, letting his lover swing their servos as they walked down the long hall. “Everyone else is fine with me.”

“Hook cleared you yet?”

“He’s thinking about it. In theory, I could be cleared a decacycle after surgery, but with everything, he’s decided to monitor me. My scans today looked better, though.”

“That’s great!” Breakdown squeezed his hand. “We’re definitely celebrating later. The whole treatment!”

Knock Out opened his mouth to protest, or at the least correct him, but the innocent look in his conjunx’s eyes stopped him. There was no reason not to trust that Breakdown was on the same page. He knew, without having to specify, that neither of them was ready for their normal level of intimacy. Instead, Knock Out squeezed the servo he held right back, smiling up at Breakdown with a matching joy.

“Sounds lovel—”

A bright flash of purple light blocked their path, accompanied by a loud noise. As the light dimmed, a figure appeared in its place.

“Hey!” the seeker called out. “Come with me!”

Knock Out made to argue, but the seeker grabbing his arm and yanking him forward caught his words in his throat. He only had a klick to register Breakdown’s hand slipping from his before the entire universe folded over him. His reality tore itself apart, held still for a moment, then clashed back together.

The cold registered first. Not a consistent thing, it came in small, piercing waves, like being lightly touched by a sharpened scalpel. Once his vision caught up with him, Knock Out looked up at the source. From a greyed sky fell little droplets of water.

“How long do you have?”

Knock Out knew that voice immediately. He shut his eyes for a klick to collect himself before answering stiffly. “About ten breems.”

Pharma grinned down at him, extending a hand to help him to his peds. “Skywarp! Come back in ten.”

Back on his peds, Knock Out spotted the crazy seeker and pointed at him. “Let Breakdown know I’ll be back.”

“Sure thing!” Skywarp gave them a casual salute. “I’ll hang with the big guy!” With that, he warped out of existence.

“Is this my new normal?” Knock Out asked sarcastically. “I’ll be minding my own business one klick and the next be standing here with you?” A thought occurred to him that had him searching their surroundings for anything familiar. “Where is ‘here’, anyway?”

“Not Kima,” Pharma answered, waving Knock Out to follow him. “And no, we’ll set up a better schedule soon enough once we both know where we stand.”

Knock Out just nodded, following his mentor readily to escape the cold of the rain. He cringed as several drops stung harder than others and rubbed at the spots along his shoulders where they hit. It felt strange, but Knock Out tried to remind himself of the last time he had felt the rain. It was sometime before they’d joined the Autobots, he was sure. Though, if he was honest, the memory was hazy.

Pharma led them to a collapsed building where a section of the roof still hung over the rest of the structure, the covered area completely dry underneath. “This is just meant to be a confirmation, of sorts,” he explained as he dipped under the overhang, “and an update. Just so I know where you stand amidst the Decepticons.”

Stepping under the cover, Knock Out cycled his vents. “I’m still in residency. No one really tells me anything, and I haven’t been around long enough to know anyone aside from my mentor, Hook.” He considered his words for a moment before continuing. “I have been moved to Kaon, though.”

“I figured,” Pharma snorted. “The stronghold in Kima was demolished. Good to know you’re in a prime location.” A smirk split across his face, condescending and arrogant. “Kima’s base was also destroyed, just so you know. Last cycle.” He let the information settle before continuing. “I was transferred here, but your terrors were moved to Iacon well before that. They’re with their new caretakers.”

“Jazz,” Knock Out bit out, “and his conjunx. Their son is close to mine.” He fixed an even look on Pharma, ignoring the twang of sadness at the loss of the base. “What makes you think I don’t already know my sons’ whereabouts?”

Pharma held his arms up in a mockery of surrender. “I simply meant to reassure.”

“Part of our little deal,” Knock Out reminded, stepping closer, “is for you to arrange meetings between Breakdown and myself and the twins.”

“Well, that’s a far more complicated matter, now, isn’t it?” Pharma gestured to the hazy landscape just outside. “I’m here, in Tyrest, while your brats are living the highest of lives on the opposite hemisphere.”

“That’s not _my_ issue to resolve. You can figure it out.” Looking off into the rain to avoid Pharma’s gaze, a question he’d harbored for the last decacycle taunted him. With hesitation, he asked quietly, “And Aid?”

A beat of silence as Pharma chose his words, and then, “Defensor is alive. A few members were injured, including First Aid, but they’re all expected to be combat ready within the orn.” With a serious tone, he asked, “What of Devastator?”

Knock Out shrugged, answering honestly. “I don’t know much past Hook being a member. He doesn’t mention his brothers to me.”

“I suggest, then, that you come to know him. Knowledge of the Decepticon’s combiner could prove useful to us both.”

“Agreed,” he said carefully, mulling over the idea. “In fact...the only person standing between me and the title of CMO is Hook.”

Pharma looked down at him in question. “Explain.”

“Glitch—or Glint...whatever his name is—is the current CMO, and Hook is his successor. If Glitch was, say, eliminated, then all I need do is prove myself to Hook.”

“And you could step right in to the position, _with_ the cost of their only combiner,” Pharma finished with a grin.

“It doesn’t hurt that Glitch couldn’t care less about me.”

Pharma waved the idea away. “Any involvement in his demise from you would mark you as a likely target. Leave him to me. In the meantime, consider impressing Hook more with your skills. Stand out, do what you must to gain his favor so, when the time comes, he’ll choose you.”

Knock Out nodded in agreeance, and checking his chronometer, he asked, “When would our next little meeting be?”

“When will you have a fixed schedule?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Then it’s flexible for now,” Pharma explained. “Inform ‘Warp if you need to meet with me, and he and I will coordinate a time to do so. Otherwise, for the time being, he’ll retrieve you when I say so,” Pharma grinned knowingly, “unless he decides to be nice and give you a warning.”

Knock Out let his unamused annoyance show in a deep frown. “The goal is _not_ to look suspicious.”

Pharma dismissed the concern with an absent gesture. “Warp knows what he’s doing.”

There was an opening, but Knock Out hesitated for a moment, unsure whether the conversation was worth attempting. Ultimately, the thought of remaining idle in Pharma’s wake moved him to ask, “You’ve known him long?”

Something in the flyer’s expression cracked briefly but was just as quickly recovered. “Since when do you ask questions?”

“Since _not_ questioning led me here.”

At that, Pharma grinned as though he had been reminded of a joke Knock Out was not privy to. “Long enough. Don’t go getting ideas about what that might mean.”

“Oh, I assure you,” Knock Out purred, “I have no doubts in your inability to form meaningful ties to anyone.”

Pharma glanced off to the side as though he were checking his own chronometer. “On that note, give big and blue my regards.”

“I won’t.”

“And do keep me informed on any activities in Tyrest from your side of things,” Pharma said as he stepped out into the rain.

“If I’m told anything at all,” Knock Out muttered, low enough for the flyer to sense him speaking but not to discern his words.

Almost as soon as he had made to follow Pharma, a bright flash signaled Skywarp’s return. The seeker appeared wearing a smile that rival Breakdown’s and immediately reached out to the fellow flyer. Pharma didn’t waste time, pulling from subspace several sealed vials.

“Need a restock?”

Warp snatched the vials, stuffing them into his own subspace too quickly for Knock Out read their labels. “Nah, I keep them clean.” Satisfied with his payment, the seeker turned his attention to him. “Good chat with Pharmaceutical?”

“Sure,” Knock Out supplied. “Just take me back before I’m late for my night shift.”

“Until I see you next, then.” Pharma turned his back to them smoothly, waving as he walked off. Breaking into a short run, he leapt into a transformation and jetted away.

Warp grabbed his arm again and collapsed the universe without further warning. Prepared now for the feeling, Knock Out held his body steady as light and time bent around him until the hallway he had left opened above him, rotating as the universe did until the floor was under him. Reality still spun, but at least this time, he remained upright.

“You okay?” Breakdown asked, concern leaking from his voice.

Knock Out nodded, regretted the action, and stumbled into his lover’s steady arms.

“Hey! You got better at it!” The sound of metal rapidly clanking against metal had Knock Out twisting around to see the seeker excitedly clapping. “Just think! My trinemates and I fly in and out of warps!”

“Sounds dreadful,” Knock Out muttered, collecting himself so he could stand on his own, though Breakdown’s hands didn’t leave him. “Enjoy you wares.”

“Course I will!” Warp’s wings fluttered lightly as he twirled away, dancing down the hall out of sight.

“Storage closet?” Breakdown guessed.

After checking his chronometer again, Knock Out cycled his vents to ease his simmering annoyance. “Storage closet.”

Compared to the base in Kima, Kolkular was a mess. Setting aside the darkly painted corridors or the dim lighting, the base itself was clearly created by collections of afterthoughts. Barracks and weaponry were close to one another, but the canteen and rec rooms were on the other side of the base. Anyone waking up from their recharge shifts had to walk through the corridors connecting the war rooms to reach their only supply of energon.

Breakdown honestly hadn’t minded. There was something reassuring about walking through a novel thought process and seeing the visible mistakes inexperience makes. But as he wandered the base in search of the training rooms, the fondness began to wear off.

Had he just waited around with the others in the barracks, he could have gotten there on time without issue. But he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to walk Knock Out to the medbay. Alone time was limited here, so he had sworn to make the most of every moment they had.

As he continued to frantically search the halls for a sign or another person, Breakdown repeated that over and over again in his mind. It was worth it, he thought, being late, being lost, being increasingly nervous was worth it for even a klick with his conjunx.

Prayers were about to be blurted out when, finally, he turned a corner and found an entire hall lined with doors labeled with various forms of combat. No one was in the hall, but Breakdown still let his body fall into some relief. As he opened the comm message again, though, anxiety twisted in his core. At least twenty doors he could see, most with different labeling, and no where on message did it say which room to report to.

Despite already being late, Breakdown stood frozen at one end of the corridor. He could search each room, but he ran the risk of interrupting someone. He could read each description and infer, but there again, if he made the wrong decision, a stranger could become angered by his ignorance. At this point, Breakdown was tempted to simply turn around and return to the medbay, but his ability to retrace his wandering steps came into question. Not to mention, he doubted any level of command would tolerate him completely skipping his first training session after all they had gone through to enlist him.

That last thought made his choices more limited. Regardless of his own state of mind, he needed to move forward.

Taking several hesitant steps towards the other end of the corridor, Breakdown glanced up at the signs above the doors on either side of him. To the left was a word he didn’t recognize, so that room was ruled out. To the right read _Sky-People Fighting_ , so it was also ruled out. Slowly, he moved down the hall, crossing out rooms as he went, his confidence gradually rising.

Eventually, a door to his right was labeled _Familiar_. Breakdown paused, rereading the word. Tarnish was a very blunt language, and so often it was difficult to understand what a non-native speaker was trying to say. ‘Familiar’ wasn’t a far cry from ‘General’. A slew of questions about who had written the signs and where they might have come from swarmed his mind until Breakdown shook his helm, forcing himself to stop thinking. His first instinct was almost always the right choice, so he moved to the door.

Whatever burst of confidence he had was immediately blown apart. In the middle of a massive room lined with enough stadium-like benches to seat hundreds of mechs, sat a lone grey form.

Megatron was a distinctive figure with his arching detailing and striking features. Coupled with his sheer size, the mech could be spotted from leagues away, let alone these few paces. His mere presence could be felt, solemn and grave.

Breakdown couldn’t begin to comprehend how dire a situation this was. Never mind the obvious propaganda he had been fed by the Autobots, this mech was still a Pit Fighter nearly twice his side. He had never had the misfortune of fighting the leader of the Decepticons, but anyone he knew who had never lived to tell him about it. And those who witnessed him spoke of a blazing passion and a fierce thirst for dominance.

Again, he was frozen in place, the door loudly shutting behind him the only thing letting him know time had passed. Megatron remained hunched over on a bench, his back to the only entrance and exit. So long as it seemed the warlord was unaware of him, Breakdown figured he had a chance of leaving in one piece. Careful not to make a sound, he turned around and took a step towards the door. Only for his ped to clank audibly on the metal floor.

“Where are you going?”

That core chilling voice froze over his every joint.

“Ah,” Megatron called out as if he had come to understand a simple matter. “You are one of new recruits. The former Wrecker...Breakdown, was it?”

Breakdown nodded, looking over his shoulder to see the gladiator now standing and facing him. His expression was what made Breakdown twist back around. Megatron didn’t wear any signs of anger or frustration. Rather, he reminded Breakdown of Sunstreaker. Those tired eyes, that calm façade, the little tells of someone holding themselves together by tethers. 

“Yeah,” Breakdown answered, snapping himself back to reality. “I’m, uh...I just got cleared.”

“I am aware.”

“Right!” Breakdown cringed and shuffled closer to the door. “Thanks for that. So, I’m...I’m supposed to, um...” He gestured between the door and the room they were in. “Not be here.”

“Perhaps.” Megatron visibly looked him over, his bright eyes seemingly analyzing his every insecurity. “Or, perhaps, you are where you are needed.” The warlord turned his back to him with a strange grace, gesturing to the bench he had occupied. “Come.”

“Over there?” he asked before his processor caught up with what his mouth was saying.

“There is a great deal on my mind, and you are one of the few impartial sparks.”

Of course, he obeyed. This was Megatron, of all people, commanding him to come closer. But as he procrastinated his walk to the center of the mock-arena, Breakdown couldn’t help but note that somber tone. It twisted some sympathy from him, urging him to listen.

When Breakdown finally came to stand side-by-side with Megatron, the Decepticon leader motioned to the bench as he himself began to pace in front of it. “You were an Autobot once,” Megatron began, his expression turning troubled. “Therefore, you are in the unique position of having knowledge of both sides.”

Breakdown nearly opened his mouth to correct the statement, to say he hadn’t been with the Decepticons nearly long enough to know them, but he caught himself. Instead, he nodded and sat down as directed.

“I grow evermore curious,” he continued, “by what you are told of me and my people. Propaganda is one thing—a tool designed to convey positions on matters—but misinformation can be dangerous.” He paused, folding his hands behind his back. “An Autobot and I had a confrontation a cycle ago. He claimed, so adamantly, that I intent to enslave Cybertron under my rule. Never mind no one, save myself, knows my intentions, but to accuse me of such atrocities...”

Breakdown looked up from his fidgeting hands to see Megatron’s distraught features, the image settling oddly in his mind.

“Tell me, if you will, whether you were ever told of my past.”

His processor stalled for a moment, but Breakdown reset his optics and fought through the words. “Not really.”

“Then it is out of ignorance that the mech accused a former slave of enslaving?”

“...Maybe?” Breakdown shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “I mean, some of us know more about you than others.”

Megatron twisted at the waist, bringing only an eye and part of his grimace into view. “Yourself included?”

“I was miner,” he blurted out. Feeling the need to clarify, he hurried to elaborate. “On Velocitron! I got into construction when I got here.”

“I fear our stories have reoccurring beats. Similarities in experiences no other class shares.”

Again, Breakdown fought the urge to interject. They simply weren’t similar enough to compare. He hadn’t been a slave, so far as he knew. No one had owned him, not in the same sense as Knock Out or Cybertronian miners. There were overseers and clear shifts, but no _one_ being controlled his time and his body. At least, he hadn’t ever thought so.

Megatron’s face broke into something vaguely resembling confusion. “Do you think someone of our background—someone who has been drained to the point of emptiness, beaten to the point of perceived worthlessness, starved of any semblance of respect—would _ever_ dream of treating another being with the same disregard for life?”

“No,” he answered honestly.

That confusion morphed, becoming more agitated. “Then what is it that has earned me an Autobot’s ire?”

After taking a moment to consider what that meant, Breakdown spoke the first thought that came to mind. “You’re a tyrant.”

Any outrage over the accusation was entirely justified, but rather than the wrath Breakdown expected to be dealt, Megatron appeared to grow calm. His confusion softened into understanding, then pity. And when he spoke, it was with a soothing voice that told of vorns spent under the abuse of ignorance.

“I am.”

A beat of silence allowed the two words to register, but Breakdown still stared up at the warlord in wonder.

“Do you know what a tyrant is?” At Breakdown’s meek shake of his helm, Megatron came to face him fully, his ped fall loud and pronounced. “A tyrant is someone who has led the impoverished and the oppressed into a place of leadership. That is a title I gladly accept. To be hailed as the leader and the voice to those who have been striped of their basic rights. What of my accomplishments, then, do not warrant pride?”

A rhetorical question, but Breakdown answered anyway. “None?”

Megatron frowned at him, his sharp eyes searching him for something. “Why did you ever join the Autobots?”

“I...I don’t really know,” Breakdown said, the statement entirely genuine the more he considered those early days before the war. Memories of sitting around a construction site talking politics during a break resurfaced along with the feeling of being torn. He hadn’t disagreed with the friends who had chosen differently, but he had been closer to Bulkhead. 

“What of Optimus Prime do you admire, then?” Megatron prompted, his curiosity plain in his tone.

Again, his mind came up blank. “I don’t really know. I don’t really know _him_ , just people who know him. Like Kup, or Ironhide. They said a lot of good things about him, and I respected them.”

“If you knew nothing of your own leader, then what kept you from us?”

“A lot of things,” Breakdown explained. “You guys love violence, you want to kill anyone you disagree with, you want power.” Scratching at the back of his helm, he continued with, “But I kind of stopped thinking that. I mean, I can’t blame you guys for violence when I ran with the Wreckers as long as I did. We were just as bad, if not worse, than most of you. Besides, we’ve all killed someone at this point.”

“I agree,” Megatron said somberly, coming to sit beside him. “Forced perception is a terrible tool for control, one I never wish to employ. I am surprised, given how...involved your unit was, that Optimus Prime remained so out of reach. Another trait of his I hope to avoid.”

There wasn’t anything he could say to that, really. As aware as he was of the Prime’s distaste for the Wreckers, there was no defense for his constant distance. When Megatron continued to sit quietly, Breakdown decided to bridge the gap.

“I, um,” he started, searching for what exactly he wanted to say. “I used to listen to your speeches...before the war. It was the first time I had heard a miner speak out about what the job is like. And there wasn’t anything you said that I disagreed with.” When Megatron turned an appreciative gaze to him, he continued. “If—say you weren’t, or didn’t, become a miner or anything. What would you have been?”

For the first time during their conversation, Megatron smiled. It wasn’t the sharp, gruesome grin he had heard soldiers describe. No, he looked for all the world like Sideswipe, young and hopeful, excited by fantasies.

“A poet,” he answered softly, “or a writer, perhaps. I fell in love with the written word, harder than I had for the spoken form. There’s a subtle power in such immortality and a far louder beauty in the way it spreads. You no longer need to rely on an audience setting aside themselves to listen to you. When you read someone’s writings, you can become them. The experiences on the page become your own, and your entire perception of yourself can shift.” He lowered his helm, gazing at his larger hands and their sharpened talons. “I dreamt of a day when all my worth could be attributed to what I can create from nothing. A day when I could be defined by my ideas and my observations of the world.”

Folding his hands into fists, Megatron straightened and looked down to him. “And you? What would you have become?”

Breakdown stared up in awe at the mech sitting beside him. “Nothing quite like that. I just am what I’m told to be.”

Megatron’s bright grin dimmed with pity. “What are your passions?”

His first thought was of his sons, but he couldn’t say a word about them here. Then there was Knock Out, but he wasn’t sure ‘loving my conjunx’ was a career.

Breakdown’s gaze bore into his fidgeting hands. There wasn’t anything he was good at aside from building and destroying. But then again, Knock Out had no qualifications for being a medic when they joined the Autobots. The fond memory of laughing with his lover over the strangeness of choosing, of Knock Out claiming he was where he was for “being good with my hands”, led him down a new way of thinking.

Holding his hands steady, one pressing into the palm of the other, he let his thoughts tumble out of him. “I would be someone who doesn’t hurt people. Not like Knock Out, though. I don’t think I could cut people open that much.” Glancing up at Megatron, he noticed his leader wore a troubled expression. “He’s a surgeon!” he clarified. “I’d want to be a healer, just not a surgeon or anything like that.”

Megatron nodded slowly, with diligent motions. “I will forever be impressed by doctors who can stand to rip their comrades and friends apart, trusting themselves to put them back together. There is something to be learned from them, from their ability to rely so heavily on their intellect.” With a sad smile, he continued, “There is no place in war for any of us to leave it unscathed. I hope, though, that there will come a time soon that you and I will have endless opportunities.”

Not in anyway sure how to respond, Breakdown just nodded, throwing up a corner of his mouth in a grin tightened by his own awkwardness.

“This has been...enlightening.” Megatron cycled his vents as he rose, motioning for him to do the same. “Thank you, Breakdown, for allowing me to speak with you.”

“Sure thing.”

After a beat, Megatron seemed to remember something. “What were you doing in here to begin with?”

Panic immediately took a hold of him. “Training,” he muttered.

“Ah, yes, I had walked with your instructor here. He is using the room just down the hall.”

Breakdown glanced at the door behind him, his peds feeling anchored to the floor. “Got it...”

“Come. I am responsible for your delay. Dreadwing does not typically allow for any disregard for punctuality, but he would never question me.”

When Megatron began moving to the door, Breakdown only hesitated a little to follow. Sure, he would be saved from his lateness, but what kind of scene would he be causing, walking into his first training session with an escort from Megatron?

“Dreadwing?” Breakdown asked, hoping whatever emotions he was working through didn’t show.

“A fine soldier, and an even better mech.” Megatron turned to look him over as he opened the door, revealing the hall. “I have a great deal of respect for him, and he for me. I assure you, he understands becoming sidetracked by my tendency for deep conversation.”

The tension in his shoulders eased, and Breakdown nodded appreciatively. “Thank you.”

“I am the one thanking you,” Megatron corrected. “Believe me, this benefited me far more than it did you.”

The words were as comforting as they were smoothly spoken, and he couldn’t help but trust them. So, when Megatron disappeared out the door, Breakdown followed behind him confidently down the corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! As always, let me know what you think! My vision of Megatron falls somewhere between G1 and Prime, but I'd love to know how he came across. I've also noticed this fic is a lot of set up, and though I know where everything is going in the next few chapters, let me know if it's beginning to drag. 
> 
> Until next time!


	4. Life and Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past forever haunts us.  
> Also Soundwave apparently had some fun when he got back to Kaon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure I don't have to mention what happened to their youngest son, but the emotional repercussions of that particular event are beginning to be explored in this and future chapters. I'm just making you aware that the event was not merely a plot point and has serious impacts on characters.

The figure looking back at him was, Knock Out had to admit, immaculate.

It had been a difficult task finding a reflective surface anywhere in Kolkular, but one metal wall in the far end of the medbay was new enough to let his sleek physique dance across it. Knock Out twisted, letting the brighter lighting of the medbay hit him just right to display his brilliant crimson across the wall. Leaning closer, he noted the precise detailing on his face and helm, a burst of pride for Breakdown’s work filling him.

“Are you done feeling yourself?”

The familiar sound of Hook’s dry tone didn’t draw his attention away from his reflection. “Notice anything?” he asked, the pride he felt seeping through.

“I can’t see past your vanity.”

“If you must know,” Knock Out signed, twisting around to view his other side, “I don’t do this by myself. I have a very handy assistant.”

“This,” Hook said, holding his hand out palm up, “this right here. This is how many cares I give.” He wiggled the digits of his empty hand for emphasis. “And this,” he lifted the data pad he held and set it in the open palm, “is your new schedule.”

That got his attention. Knock Out paused his posing to glance over at his mentor. “I’m cleared?”

“You don’t have any scarring, no damages from your incident,” Hook lifted the hand balancing the pad, motioning for him to take it. “I say you’re fine. And you’ll be in perfect shape by the time you’re deployed.”

Those few words had him immediately rushing to Hook, the balanced data pad falling to the ground in his panicked wake. “Or! We don’t waste me!” Knock Out forced a smile, loosening his hold on Hook’s arms when the medic’s shocked expression finally registered. “I’m a skilled surgeon, you ought to know that by now. What sense does it make that someone of my caliber should be sent to their death when I could be saving lives here?”

Hook’s mouth moved, but no words came out.

“You wouldn’t waste resources, would you? Think of me as a valuable resource.”

“ _What?_ ” Hook spit out.

“A resource. Like spare parts or a multiuse instrument.”

“No, I—what are you _talking_ about?”

“Not killing me, Hook, pay attention.” Knock Out cycled his vents, struggling to suppress his panic. “I would like very much not to die. _You_ would like very much for patients not to die. Ergo, we share a common ground that requires me being alive to heal others.”

Hook pushed him away, successfully breaking Knock Out’s hold on him. “Knock Out! Where are you getting this from?”

“You just said—!”

“I said I cleared you! How do you jump from that to murder?” He pressed a servo to his temple, rubbing at the spot. “I was told ex-Bots are paranoid, but this is just ridiculous.”

“I don’t think you’re going to _murder_ me,” Knock Out clarified with a huff, “but sending me off to battle is a surefire way to get me killed.”

Hook opened his mouth to retort but paused. He stared at him, his processor visibly making the connections, before dropping to the floor to pick up the fallen pad. “Read this,” he ordered, shoving it to Knock Out’s chest.

“I’m perfectly fine not making my certain doom a reality, thank you.”

“Primus below, read this!” Hook shouted, pushing harder. “We’re not going to kill you!”

If only just to clam Hook, Knock Out accepted the data pad and slowly onlined it. Across the screen scrolled shift schedules for the next orn. There were the usual times sectioned off in the medbay, but every other cycle was a new block titled ‘Combat’.

“So...?”

“So? So, you have a regular training detail.” When Knock Out directed narrowed eyes at him, Hook elaborated. “Combat training. See what you’re good at, what style you favor, where and when to place you in a battle. We all have some level of training assigned to us, yours is just more often for now.”

“Oh,” Knock Out murmured, staring down at the schedule. “I’m just...training.”

“Use your head,” Hook huffed. “Did the Autobots just throw rookies into a bloodbath and hope for the best?”

“Sort of,” he admitted dryly.

The silence that followed persisted for far longer than Knock Out was comfortable with. Lifting his gaze slowly, he thought for a moment Hook’s frozen expression might have resulted from a glitch until the medic in-vented deeply.

“Well,” he said, voice tinged by horror and utter shock, “we _don’t_.”

Knock Out had done everything within his power to procrastinate. The medbay was slow, which meant he could hide himself away to take inventory rather than chat with anyone. Anything to make time slow down.

As comforting as it was to know his inexperience wasn’t going to decide his fate, training still meant he’d eventually be deployed. The very reason they left the Autobots was going to be for not. A small part of his spark twinged at that, twisting his core as if to change his view, as if to let him know he was fooling himself. But Knock Out shoved the feeling down and refocused on his tasks.

Eventually, time marched forward and his shift came to an end. Had Hook not already threatened him last cycle to physically drag him out of the medbay, he might have fled to an empty private room and lied about getting lost. Instead, with heavy peds, Knock Out made his way to the entryway.

Once Breakdown caught sight of him, he excitedly waved him over. Knock Out threw up a smile, but his attention was drawn to the medic his lover had evidently been speaking to. As hard as he looked, though, the mech didn’t seem the least bit confused by Breakdown’s obvious excitement.

“Hey babe!”

Knock Out just hummed a greeting, looking the medic up and down. “Ready to go, I take it?”

“Yeah!” Turning around to face the opened door, Breakdown gave the mech a short salute. “See you, Chamberlin!”

Knock Out didn’t look back to see if the medic responded, but once Breakdown came to walk beside him, he raised his brow in question.

“Chamberlin,” Breakdown stated plainly. “My doc.”

He nodded with a deliberate motion to give himself time to consider the name. It vaguely sounded familiar.

“Hey, on that note, the mech I’ve been training with—”

“Dread End, yes,” Knock Out finished, gesturing proudly with a servo. “What about him?”

“ _Dead_ End. He’s the red guy, ‘bout my height.”

“Then who am I thinking of?”

“Dead En—”

“ _No_ , someone has a Dread-something or other.”

“Oh. Dreadwing.”

Knock Out was about to sing his own praises when his lover’s sudden change of tone caught up to him. He had been told plenty of the last two training sessions Breakdown had attended, namely of the possible friend. The more he searched his memory for any details on the Dreadwing mech, all that he could recall was him being their instructor.

As the silence between them grew awkward, a guilty feeling seeped into his spark. Breakdown felt off in a way he couldn’t quite describe.

“Your friend is meeting us there?”

“Yeah, Dee had monitor duty earlier, so he was closer to the training hall.”

“Anyone else you know?”

“A few guys.” Breakdown shrugged casually. “It’s a bunch of post-injury mechs and two other recruits. We don’t all have the same time blocks.”

“Dead End does, though?”

“Yeah, he’s been working on his leg.” Slowing their pace to indicate a place along his upper knee, Breakdown explained, “He said it got torn off around here. The whole thing had to be replaced, so he’s been relearning how to use it.”

“Sounds fairly personal. Dreadwing has to work with all of us simultaneously?”

The beat of silence that followed might not have been noticeable to anyone else, but it held all Knock Out needed to know.

“Kind of,” Breakdown muttered. “You’ll see.”

So, this Dreadwing was the issue. In what way, he couldn’t be sure. Knock Out scoured his mind for a way to ease his conjunx, but without actually knowing what was wrong, and without Breakdown explicitly telling him there was an issue, he was at lost for how to address it.

The rest of the walk to the training hall was quiet. If Breakdown also felt the building tension, he declined to mention it, and they came upon the training hall before Knock Out could come to any sort of conclusions.

Occupied as he was, Knock Out didn’t take in much of the room. As far he was concerned, the space was standard, consisting of equipment and people he didn’t recognize nor care to come to know.

“Breakdown!”

Knock Out snapped his attention back to his lover as a mech wearing a calm smile jogged over to them. Breakdown, for his credit, didn’t leave his side, but his face brightened at the sight of his new friend.

“Good day?” Breakdown asked, clasping the mech’s offered hand casually once he was within reach.

“Eh, it’s been slow.” His steady gaze shifted to Knock Out. “This your partner you mentioned?”

“Yeah! Knock Out, this is Dead End. Dead End, Knock Out.”

“Pleasure,” Knock Out greeted, not bothering to hide how far away his focus was. His presence there didn’t seem to matter a great deal to Dead End, anyway. No sooner had he nodded his own greeting, the two warriors became locked in conversation.

Not an unfamiliar scene. After vorns with the Wreckers either berating him or ignoring him, Knock Out was skilled in entertaining himself. Besides, his main concern was their instructor. Searching the room with a wandering gaze, he scanned each individual scattered about the place. A total of fifteen or so heavyset mechs, but none stood out in any alarming way.

That was, until a mech emerged from the far end of the room, moving towards the center. Knock Out certainly didn’t count himself, or especially Breakdown, a Functionalist. But everything became abundantly clear the moment those sweeping features and sharp edges came into view.

“We will be beginning shortly,” Dreadwing—there was no doubt in his mind who this was—announced, his deep, gravelly voice only solidifying what Knock Out was sure of now.

As if to add insult to injury, the large flyer immediately headed towards them. If Dead End or Dreadwing noticed a reaction in Breakdown, neither indicated it, but his lover’s clinched plating and stiff shoulders were as prominent as his smiles to him.

“Am I right to assume you are Knock Out?”

With tight features, he grinned up at the mech. “If you’re speaking to me, then yes.”

“Excellent. I am Dreadwing. For the time being, I will be your combat instructor. You will be expected to meet certain baseline requirements, but following that we can being a more personalized regiment. To begin, how much time have you spent in battle?”

Quirking a brow, he answered plainly, “None.”

Dreadwing nodded like he had expected that. “Your time spent sparring, then? Or otherwise engaging in some form of combat? An approximation will suffice.”

“Still none.”

“...I see.” Dreadwing crossed his arms across his broad chest, bringing his sharp talons into view, and analyzed him with a pointed gaze. “Your preparation and assessments may take longer than expected. For now, come with me.”

If he could have stayed beside Breakdown, he would have, but the flyer’s tone left no room for debate. So, after favoring his nervous lover with an empathic expression, he followed Dreadwing to the rightmost wall.

“While I prepare the rest for their activities, you will work here.” Dreadwing came to a stop in front of one the many pieces of equipment lining the wall. “This will assess and train your reflexes. The idea is for you to hone your awareness before you hone your craft.”

Knock Out hummed like he was listening and indicated the machine with his chin. “What I am doing...exactly?”

The flyer moved to the side of the apparatus and flipped a switched, bringing the machine to life. “This,” he explained, pointing up at the screen at the top, “displays your score for each round. To move on from one tier to the next, you must make or exceed a certain score.” Moving to the front, Dreadwing tapped one of the eight padded sensors. “Hit these as hard as you like when one approaches you. The faster you hit the correct target, the higher you will score and the faster you can proceed.”

“I see,” Knock Out positioned himself on the mark on the ground and stared at the two rows of sensors. “And I am supposed to reach what exactly?”

“Tier five.”

“Right.”

“Your ability to achieve this will be considered along with the time you spent here.” The warrior leaned over in a successful attempt to intimate him. “I would expect you would like to prove yourself capable.”

“Naturally,” Knock Out said dismissively, waving away the feeling of being lorded over with a suave hand. “Just keep in mind how woefully inexperienced I currently am.”

“Of course, I am concerned more with improvements than comparative assessments.” Indicating a brightly lit button just in Knock Out’s reach, he said, “This activates and deactivates the rounds. Best of luck.”

“I’ll try not to hurt myself,” Knock Out said, flattering Dreadwing with a smirk he evidently didn’t appreciate.

Once the flyer’s back was to him, he allowed some measure of relief to flow through him. His bout with procrastination wasn’t through just yet. If all he need do was just barely improve each session, deployment would slip further and further away.

Would this plan last forever? Certainly not, but there were more important issues than assessing his reflexes. He pressed the little button, watching impatiently as the screen displayed the glyphs _Tier: 1_. The top most senor on his left slowly moved forward. Knock Out tapped it after a few klicks of watching it crawl, then turned around.

The other mechs scattered about had gathered in the center of the room loosely around Dreadwing. Breakdown was, of course, among them, but Knock Out didn’t miss his lover’s glance in his direction or the way he stood on the outside of the group completely in his view. Good then. Breakdown knew he was aware of the situation, late as he was.

Knock Out kept a close watch on not only is conjunx but on their instructor while the group moved through an exercise not unlike something he had seen Sideswipe do. Breems and several failed attempts to pass Tier 1 later, the group broke apart, dividing into pairs. Knock Out cycled his vents in relief as Breakdown walked off, his friend in toe.

By the time he turned around to restart another round on his machine and tapped the slow coming target, Breakdown and Dead End were locked in combat. This part held little familiarity. For as long as they had spent with the Autobots, he had never cared to watch Breakdown spar with his comrades and especially not with the other Wreckers. The aftermath was enough proof for him to know it was nothing he needed to see. Sideswipe had been a different matter, but even then, his son only ever trained with his sire. A far safer venture and one rarely involving _actual_ combat.

This was real, though. As real as sparring could be. Breakdown delivered as many hits as he served. He snarled when Dead End landed a blow to his helm but was otherwise unfazed, snapping back with even more force at his friend’s side.

It was enough to form bile in the back of his throat. What they were getting from this, Knock Out couldn’t begin to know. But he couldn’t not watch. Dreadwing was making his way through all the pairs, stopping at each to analyze them. If a problem arose, Knock Out felt quite strongly it was his job to intervene, especially given his utter obliviousness to his lover’s plight.

So, he watched. He watched as Breakdown let himself be smacked and battered and as he dealt his own significant blows to the mech’s core. Another jab to the helm, another punch to the chest, this one leaving a noticeable dent. As Dead End regrouped, Breakdown swiped at him, forcing him to backpedal. He stumbled, caught himself, then lunged. But rather than slamming into Breakdown, he was picked up.

A small commotion ensued, Dead End struggling to wiggle out of Breakdown’s grasp. The irony of the scene was lost on the poor mech, but Knock Out freely laughed at his lover’s ease in hauling around the unruly. Breakdown set his friend down once he was calm and seemed to be softly explaining something. The words were too quiet to decern, but the soothing voice was perfectly audible this far away from the pair. Knock Out let himself become transfixed by the interaction, ignoring the little pang in his spark, so he didn’t notice when Dreadwing approached them.

“Something wrong?”

Immediately, a change took place. Dead End straightened, going politely attentive. Breakdown did likewise, but his stiff stature was made less genuine by the strained expression he wore. And that he was looking straight at the ground.

“We halted combat,” Dead End explained, gesturing at Breakdown. “Break noticed I stared favoring my leg, again.”

“Good that your error was noted. What maneuver were you attempting?”

As Dead End moved away to demonstrate, Dreadwing closely following, Breakdown visibly relaxed. No longer in the flyer’s line of sight, his gaze drifted higher and he shuffled slightly. When he spotted Knock Out, they smiled at each other, Breakdown with a tense stress damping his brightness, Knock Out with as much sympathy as he could muster.

There was nothing he could do to help. Dreadwing began physically demonstrating what Dead End had attempted to do. Alerting Breakdown to the impending attack did nothing to actually prepare him for it. When Dreadwing stepped back, coiled himself, then lunged, Breakdown dropped to his knees. On the floor, he formed a tight ball around an empty space under him, shielding his head with one arm. With the other, he shielded the space beneath him.

“Don’t!”

The entire room went still at Breakdown’s shout. Dreadwing, for his part took a step back, lifting his servos in full view. It took him a klick, but Knock Out made to move nearer, to grab on to Breakdown and let him know this wasn’t a mine, that he was safe.

But Dreadwing was acting before Knock Out could reach him. The flyer slowly came to his knees and crawled until he was close enough to touch Breakdown’s shoulder with a calm hand. Not the greatest of ideas. Breakdown struck immediately, twisting around to grasp the arm and yank the flyer to the other side of him. But Dreadwing planted himself, refusing to be flipped over no mater how hard he was pulled. Breakdown lifted, bringing his panicked growl into full view, and made to hurl the flyer away, to no avail. Dreadwing rose slightly, but he pulled back with all his strength and dead weight to resist being thrown to the other side of the room.

Evidently realizing that nothing he was doing was working, Breakdown collapsed back down into his cowering position. Dreadwing didn’t allow his hold on Breakdown’s arm to be relinquished. No sooner had Breakdown folded again, Dreadwing rose and pulled him back until he was sitting on his peds.

“Look at where you are,” Dreadwing commanded. When Breakdown just slammed his optics shut and made to flail and grasp at the empty space, screaming when he felt nothing but air, he grabbed his shoulder with his free hand and shook him. “This is not Velocitron.”

Those few words halted everything, from Knock Out’s spark to Breakdown’s panic induced spasms. Hesitantly, Breakdown onlined his optics, the bright lights of the training room breaking whatever spell he was under. There was a steady beat of silence as his lover processed his surroundings that Knock Out used as an opportunity to move towards him. The sounds of his pedfall against the metal floor spooked Breakdown, but the sight of him drove the fear away.

Gazes locked, Knock Out made a quick decision. He could continue his approach and take Breakdown from Dreadwing, but that kind of rescue might inspire another bout of paranoia. His only other option was to stay right where he was, a few paces away, to act as moral support. Dreadwing seemed to understand the situation and how to handle it, as much as Knock Out didn’t want to admit it.

It was a pain like no other to stop short of holding him, but Knock Out was well aware the best he could hope to do was cuddle and drive a line between Breakdown and other Decepticons. This moment would be the Pits, but it was likely for the best.

So, he crouched, trying to make his movements seem casual, and nodded. A small signal, but it let Breakdown know everything he need. Yes, he was here. Here is not some mine on their home world. The mech holding him was safe. And he was not holding Red.

Finally, Breakdown cycled his vents. Dreadwing didn’t release him until Breakdown slumped forward and vented a few more times. The flyer walked in front of the bruiser, coming to sit on his peds like a mirror. “Are you settled?”

Breakdown shook his helm and muttered something too quiet to hear.

“Speak up.”

“I’m sorry,” Breakdown repeated, voice rattling. “I’m sorry.”

“Never apologize.” Turning to the other mechs staring at them, he ordered, “Continue about your tasks. Dead End, work through the maneuver on a hologram.” Back to Breakdown, he explained in a soft tone, “I would rather we begin to solve this issue now rather than later. It would be in our best interests that there is trust between us.”

When Dreadwing rose, tugging Breakdown up with him, Knock Out leapt to his peds and bolted back to his station along with all the other trainees. Once freed of any reason for punishment, he turned back around, locking his sights on his conjunx almost immediately. Breakdown was shifting his gaze from Dreadwing to him, clearly unsure whether he wanted to keep his awareness on Dreadwing or seek comfort in his conjunx.

The pair stopped in the middle of the most open space of the room, facing each other. They stood there in silence for long enough that Knock Out took several cautious steps towards them, coming to stand just in Breakdown’s field of awareness. Dreadwing inclining his helm gave him pause.

“You _are_ from Velocitron, then.” At Breakdown’s meek nod, he continued. “I became aware of Vos’s affairs there long before the war. It was during a period of personal and political reformation that I educated myself on the atrocities my nation was committing. Our foreign mining operations were chief among them. My twin and I openly opposed them on numerous occasions.”

That piqued Breakdown’s interest. For a moment, his gaze shifted from the flyer’s knees to his face before dropping obediently downwards.

“You are not the first miner I have unintentionally harmed since joining the Decepticons. Far too many were sold to Kaon and had the misfortune of meeting me or my brother. I want to make this abundantly clear,” he said lowly, tone growing impossibly more serious, “I am not, and have never been, associated with others of my frame who partook in the mining businesses. And neither has my twin. Our blatant opposition and refusal to join was one of the many reasons for our exile from Vos.”

For nearly a breem, they stood there, letting the information sink in. When Dreadwing spoke again, Breakdown didn’t flinch. “Will you look at me? I will consider you as nothing less than my equal, and I should like you to never consider me as more than such.”

Breakdown glanced his way first, searching for a sign of safety that Knock Out was quick to give. A small, encouraging smile from him gave Breakdown a measure of security that lifted his gaze. He and Dreadwing locked eyes, one of them steady while the other fidgeted nervously.

Only once Breakdown’s body grew quiet did Dreadwing reach out. “My right to your right. I will wait for you to clasp my servo.”

A few klicks went by where Breakdown did nothing but stare at the offered hand hovering between them. With heavy, robotic movements, he reached out as instructed. Even as Breakdown’s servo slowly came to grasp his, Dreadwing waited silently.

“You will not always be safe. Of that, I am sure you are well aware. But here, you are. Here, I can help you overcome traumatic stress and learn to move past it.” His servo finally wrapped lightly around Breakdown’s. “There will be times in which you and I will need to trade blows. Know that, as it is with all your peers, it is not with ill intentions.”

Breakdown nodded, his shoulders lowering a fraction. They stared at one another a moment longer before Dreadwing lifted his free hand, Breakdown mirroring. Achingly careful, they each rested their free hands on the other’s shoulder, confining them.

“It has pained me to carry the weight of my people’s misdeeds, though I know it will never compare to the pain inflicted. To see the fear in other’s optics caused by my mere presence. I apologize for not recognizing your signs sooner.”

“It’s fine,” Breakdown muttered. His words, few as they were, still carried a lingering shake.

“It is not. And I will do all that I can to aid in your recovery.” At Breakdown’s shallow nod, he added, “This is a position we can return to when the fear creeps in. Signal to me, whether in the midst of combat or a task or while sparring with me, and we will repeat these motions.

“Now, are you settled enough to proceed with this cycle’s session?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dreadwing,” he corrected.

Breakdown glanced over at him, waiting for another encouraging smile, before looking back at the flyer. “Yes...Dreadwing.”

With that, their stance was broken, and Dreadwing backed away to address the rest of the room. “Return to your sparring pairs. We may proceed.”

Knock Out could have collapsed with relief. He didn’t waste another klick to move to his lover’s side, taking his larger hands in his.

“I’m fine,” Breakdown insisted, but the words were weak and backed by an appreciative smile.

“Are you, now?” He quirked his brows up high as he smirked.

“Knock Out.”

His smirk faltered at the disappointment in Dreadwing’s tone. Turning to face the instructor, he tried to relax into an innocent façade.

“Do you wish to remain at the machine the entire session?”

That would be ideal. “No, of course not.”

“Then return to your task and allow Breakdown to return to his.”

With an annoyed huff, he squeezed his lover’s hands before releasing them. “See you later, then.”

“I’m okay, I promise,” Breakdown insisted. He wrapped an arm around his waist, stopping him in his path to his machine to bring him into a short hug. Helms close, he whispered a soft “thank you” before relinquishing him.

An emotion Knock Out couldn’t quite name took root in his spark as he walked further and further away. It didn’t leave him as he returned to thwarting Dreadwing’s plan for his success. But when he looked over his shoulder for Breakdown, he just found his lover refocused in his original task. As if nothing had even happened. 

For the third cycle in a row, the medbay was drearily slow. No new injuries, no sudden changes in their long-term patients, nothing to do but clean and sort.

If he were avoiding work, Knock Out wouldn’t have minded the menial tasks. This was entirely different. The pace of it all was enough to send him into a doze on his work bench, earning him an underserved reprimand. It wasn’t his fault he had to be there. Had Glit just written him down as ‘on-call’, he could have been earning his time for residency in the comfort of Breakdown’s arms, not slouching in front of a terminal doing absolutely nothing.

Something had to give. Either he fell into recharge in full view of Hook, or he stowed away for a quick, unseen nap. And the latter sounded far more appealing.

Knock Out crept down the hall, checking each private room for an occupant. Most were empty, and he initially considered hopping into the first available one. But should an emergency actually happen, the closest rooms would be the most logical place to house the patient. Which was why he ultimately chose the very last door.

As he walked in, the motion light flickered on, revealing the simple set up. A medical berth against the far wall, monitors surrounding it, and several stacks of various supplies, everything easily movable. It was honestly far more sophisticated than he would have ever expected for Decepticons, and Knock Out made sure to simmer in his appreciation before taking advantage of the space.

Moving two of the shelves off the side wall, he made a small compartment for himself, draping a tarp down before settling on the floor.

Tired as he was, all he could do was lie there long enough for the lights to flick back off. The room was perhaps too quiet, or perhaps it was his silent comms. There was nothing in here to bore him, and just the same nothing to cure his boredom. He considered what he likely had on him, but the only thing that came to mind was the cod Swindle had sold him.

His subspace suddenly felt heavy. There in lied a cure to something, be that boredom, stress, or too much excitement, all wrapped up in a nice little cylinder. Knock Out barely registered his hand moving until his digits grazed his thigh, just above his subspace. For a moment, the thought of removing the cod solidified.

Then the lights flicked on.

His body froze. If his subtle motion had tripped the sensor, then he was only spooking himself. But if not...

“You can get comfortable. This will take a while.”

Frag.

“It was my understanding nothing could be discerned for now.”

Frag. Frag. Frag.

“Nothing really for another orn or so. But this just measures their sparks’ oscillations to see how in sync they are.”

Slag it all, Hook was not exaggerating. Spark oscillation exams could take nearly a joor for an accurate reading. Knock Out knew from personal experience, especially from having to spend joors in the exam room nearly a vorn ago. He hadn’t been able to lie still for long enough given how sick he was while...carrying his son.

Never in his life had he ever felt such a strong urge to bolt out a room.

As Hook began explaining the machine and how exactly the exam worked, Knock Out eased himself into a sitting position then rolled to a crouch, careful not to audibly ruffle the tarp. Optics fixed on where the door should be, he crept to the shelf separating him from freedom. Checking that Hook was still speaking, he peeked through a gap between a motor and a box of optics.

All he could see was Soundwave staring directly at him.

“So, any questions?” Hook asked, completely oblivious to the staring contest.

“Designation.”

“I’m...I’m Hook.”

“Are you experiencing disorientation, or short term memory loss, or long term memory loss, or processor glitches possibly resulting in—”

The third voice was cut off as Soundwave stood and pushed whoever was out of Knock Out’s view away. As the officer began stalking towards him, Knock Out panicked over an excuse for hiding behind the shelves, but his processor stalled.

“Designation,” Soundwave repeated, now just on the other side of the shelf.

Well, frag, Knock Out cursed to himself. There was no way to remedy this by cowering. He rose on shaky legs and grabbed onto the shelf. After a short in-vent, he pushed it to the side.

“ _Knock Out?_ ” Hook shouted, his optics blown wide. “What the slag are you doing in here?”

“I was, umm...taking inventory.” That didn’t sound the least bit convincing, even to himself, so he quickly threw on a smile and motioned to the door. “But I can see you’re busy in here, so congratulations! I’ll just be on my way.”

A hand to his chest blocked his escape. Soundwave peered down at him, his red visor bright.

“What did you just say?” Hook asked, sounding more exasperated now than he had a moment ago.

“I’ll be on my—”

“No, before that.” Knock Out looked over his shoulder to watch as Hook stalked closer, a digit pointing at him accusingly. “What do you think you are congratulating?”

Knock Out opened his mouth to respond but hesitated. Looking between Hook, Soundwave, and the one-eyed mech, doubt creeped in. “Well, I _thought_ you were referring to a sparklet exam, but I freely admit I might have been wrong.”

The room going silent let him know full and well he was not. Hook still spoke up anyway, his voice becoming dark and serious. “Knowledge of this cannot leave this room.”

“I understand completely,” Knock Out assured hurriedly. When he turned back to face the door, Soundwave still stood in his path, staring at him. “Not a word from me, I promise.”

“Assistance: requested.”

Knock Out, in all his wisdom, burst into a frightened fit of laughter. “No! No, that’s not necessary. Not in the slightest.”

“Previous experience: valuable. Medical advice: requested.”

“What? Why?” Hook barked. “I worked on you with Glit for the last two.”

“Previous experience: valuable.”

“He has a point,” the one-eyed mech contributed. “Science is more accurately conducted through the use of multiple minds.”

“You don’t want my mind, I assure you.” Knock Out backed away from the officer, glancing around him to find another escape route.

“Mental knowledge: minimal worth compared to personal. Previous carriage experience: valuable.”

“Even more logical a conclusion.” The one-eyed mech stepped away from the berth into Knock Out’s field of vision.

“Symbiotes and sparklings are not the same,” Hook argued. “The terms are different lengths, the developments are different, even the sparks have different properties.”

Knock Out just nodded along. “What Hook said. Besides, my success rate is rather low.”

“Inaccurate statement,” Soundwave insisted. “Current condition: variant. Addition assistance: requested.”

“There is also the matter of security.” The other mech lifted his gun arm into an aiming position. “Either this medic offers his aid, or he will need to be eliminated.”

“Fine!” Knock Out yelped, dodging behind Hook, who raised his servos in a panicked surrender. “I’ll help!”

“Threat: unnecessary. Shockwave: disengage.”

“That was not a threat,” the mech defended plainly. “It was a statement of fact.”

“Primus give me strength,” Hook muttered. Finally lowering his arms, he waved at Knock Out to step away from him. “Just go stand over there. We’ll deal with this later.”

Every step felt like he was treading in ice, but Knock Out eventually made his way to the side wall, opposite his hiding place and plan of escape. As if none of that insanity had happened at all, Soundwave sat back on the berth to lie down, Hook and Shockwave each flanking him.

With his mentor’s back to him, he allowed his stress to manifest, his optics no doubt twin flames of anxiety. From his new position, Knock Out could see most of the monitors as Hook began the exam. That served as a good enough distraction, watching the two lines on the screen swell up and down in two separate waves.

After several breems of the strange silence, broken only by the soft beeping coming from the machine, Hook moved past him to a terminal and pulled up a file type Knock Out didn’t recognize. “So far, this one seems to match Lasorbeak and Buzzsaw’s original spark scans at five decacycles. I’ll have a better idea once I can take an average.”

“That does not suggest doubles,” Shockwave explained. Knock Out made to respond, but he awkwardly stopped himself when he looked over to the mech and noticed his fixed gaze on Soundwave. “It is just as likely, should initial readings display dissimilar patterns as the previous trial, that this symbiote could result in a singular entity such as Ravage.”

“This is not a trial.”

“How should I reference it then?”

“Carriage.”

“That is inefficient.”

“Alter terminology,” Soundwave insisted.

“Fine.”

Soundwave rotated his helm back, placing the monitor displaying his and the sparklet’s spark pulses. “Variant.”

“Do you have proof?”

The host shook his helm. “Soundwave: certain. Shockwave: uncertain.”

“Hook: pleading neutral,” the medic interjected, still studying the file on the terminal. “I won’t confirm or denying anything just yet.”

Despite how much he wanted to leave, Soundwave’s statement had him curious. Knock Out glanced over at Hook, ensuring his mentor was still occupied, then walked over to the monitor. Stopping a few paces from the host, he focused his attention on the two waves. One moved to the familiar tune of a grown Cybertronian, long and steady, not too frequent. The second was what troubled him. Neither of his carriages were ever caught below the six decacycle mark, but he had done extensive research after deciding to keep the twins. The more he counted off the number of crests within a half-breem, the more he worried.

“It is oscillating disturbingly fast.”

“Knock Out,” Hook piped up, his patience running thin, “please keep your comments to a minimum.

“Well, it _is_.”

“ _It_ is also a being, on average, a third the size of most Cybertronians. You wouldn’t compare a mini-bot to a guardian in the same way you can’t compare a symbiote to your sparklings.”

“An accurate statement,” Shockwave agreed. “Like-frame comparative analysis is required.”

Knock Out just nodded, internalizing the information as well as the sharp pang to his spark. Looking down at Soundwave, though, he noticed a light tilt in the host’s helm. A small sign of appreciation.

It was enough to encourage him to speak again. “What seems different, then?”

“Nothing, yet,” Hook answered. “That’s what I was saying.”

“ _Soundwave_ , what feels different?”

“Uncertain.” Placing a hand to his chest, just above his spark chamber, he stated, “Consciousness: different.” He moved his hand down to his abdomen, just above his gestation chamber. “Sensations: different.”

“Is it possible you are simply registering this one as not being Lasorbeak and Buzzsaw?” Shockwave asked.

“No.”

“Then I require further analysis to justify your claims.”

“Shockwave: logical.”

“I am.”

Knock Out turned his attention away from the strange exchange to mull over Soundwave’s statements. It didn’t seem unreasonable that a carrier might notice anomalies sooner than a scan could. After all, he himself had recognized little differences not long after he had found himself sparked again. Breakdown had even won a bet over whether they had created twins again or not because of his little tells.

The memory was quickly shoved aside. Like Hook said, this was nothing like his own experiences. There was no use in reliving tragedies when they didn’t matter.

Eventually, the scan completed, and Hook collected the output data. Without any immediately noticeable concerns, Soundwave was cleared. The host and the scientist quietly took their leave, but when Knock Out made to do the same, Hook stopped him in his tracks.

“This isn’t something you just walk away from.”

Knock Out quirked a brow at the serious tone. “It isn’t?”

Hook shook his helm, his mouth forming a hard line. “You’ve involved yourself in a far more significant matter than you realize.”

“Look, Hook, I’m not here to step over you,” Knock Out assured with a casual flick of his servo. “I’ll leave and pretend this never happened—”

“Oh, that’s not how this works,” Hook laughed. “There’s no way out of this, Knock Out.”

“I think you underestimate how much I’m willing to get out of this entire affair.”

“This isn’t a scandal.”

“I don’t care what it is, I _don’t_ want to be involved.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have been...” Hook gestured erratically at the shelves. “Whatever you were doing.”

“Recharging. See? I’m a slacker.” Knock Out grinned brightly, shoving as much pride as he could into the expression. “You wouldn’t want a slacker handling the care of a Commander?”

Hook acquainted his face with the palm of his hand, muttering something unintelligible. “Soundwave, himself, asked for your assistance. You don’t just refuse him.” When Knock Out opened his mouth to retort, Hook jabbed a digit in his face to silence him. “You _don’t_. Whether either of us like it or not. You do realize how inconvenient this is for me? Your entire schedule is going to be redone because of this! Instead of monitor duty or training, you’ll be on-call or at these appointments for the next nine orns. And who has to reassign all those blocks?” He pointed to himself.

Several klicks passed with Knock Out just staring at Hook before he realized his mentor wanted an answer. “Glint?”

“Who? Wait, Glit?” Hook shook his helm again, looking on the verge of hitting something. “He’s too busy following Megatron around the world to be bothered.”

He almost responded to that, to suggest that Hook simply not deal with the evidently tedious task of moving around his time, but a certain aspect of his little outburst made him pause. If he couldn’t train, then he couldn’t make any progress. If he couldn’t make progress...

“The fact of the matter is,” Hook continued, heedless of Knock Out’s epiphany, “Soundwave wants your opinion.”

“He...knows, though, yes? My background.” Hesitation seeped into his words as he continued. “You understand why I might be...unwilling to associate myself with this particular condition.”

“I led the surgery on your chamber,” Hook reminded him. “The state of it...that’s not something I’m liable to forget. I realize it might not be comfortable to you, but we _all_ have our share of trauma. As a doctor, you have to set that aside to help your patients.” Placing a comforting servo on his shoulder, Hook looked at him pointedly. “Soundwave is your patient now, too. You need to do the right thing.”

A squeeze to his shoulder was the only signal to Knock Out that Hook was walking away from him. He hadn’t even registered the door opening or closing, he was too lost in his thoughts.

Hook’s little call to action was hardly inspiring. It was more a statement of fact that medics had to distant themselves from their work in order to properly heal others. But this was different. In what way exactly, Knock Out couldn’t put to words, but the mere _thought_ of throwing himself into caring for a carrier twisted his spark. Was it jealousy, perhaps? Anger? Regret? Some awful combination of emotions? Whatever this was, it felt like a poison slowly creeping through his systems until it infected every last circuit.

The lights flicked off.

“You seem off.”

Breakdown’s voice was hushed, careful not to wake the nearby mechs trying to recharge. It was blaring to Knock Out, though.

“Off how?” he asked with no small amount of annoyance.

“I don’t know,” Breakdown signed. “Just...hollow.”

“Hollow?”

“Yeah. You’ve been that way for a while, I think.”

Knock Out cycled his vents deeply. “Have I now?”

The arm under his helm shifted as Breakdown readjusted his hold on him. “Like that,” he pointed out. “You okay?”

Something between frustration and irritation buried itself in his spark. “You had a bit of an episode some cycles ago. Are _you_?”

The jab clearly wasn’t missed. The arm circling his waist loosened as Breakdown internalized it, then tightened again. “What happened?”

Knock Out shook his helm incredulously. “I can’t tell you out loud.”

“Oh,” he muttered, connecting the dots.

“I just—I found out something today that I want to talk to you about, really. I just can’t.”

“I mean...” Breakdown shuffled again. “At some point we—”

“I _know_ that,” Knock Out hissed. “But I just—I just don’t know.” He pushed himself up to flip around and face his lover, careful not to fall off the smaller berth. “I don’t know what seems worse right now.”

“No, I get it.”

“You _don’t_.” Shoving his face into his hands, his helm pressed against Breakdown’s outstretched arm, he whispered, “I need to talk to you about what’s happened, but just the thought of spark merging...”

A strong grip pressed his body closer to Breakdown’s. “You know how low our chances are, even without the baffles. We’ll be okay.”

“I do, but the debate isn’t any easier because of it.” Cuddling against Breakdown’s front, he murmured, “The lack of privacy doesn’t help, either.”

“Well, considering I had to turn my audio receptors off the past couple cycles ‘cause some mechs a few berths from us were going at it, I doubt anyone really cares.”

Knock Out freed his face to cringe up at his conjunx. “You’ve been awake for that, too?”

Those lovely golden eyes widen comically. “I thought you were recharging.”

“I’m surprised you weren’t.”

Breakdown broke away his gaze at that. “Recharge doesn’t come easy.”

The thick silence that followed was thoughtful. They hadn’t maintained the same level of communication since joining the Decepticons. On the occasions Knock Out had noticed this, he had brushed it aside with excuses: they no longer had private quarters; he wasn’t ready to merge quite yet. True enough statements, but they rang hollow when considering how often they had discussed discrete matters when they lived with the twins. They didn’t always need merging to know what the other was thinking, but here they were.

“What I want to talk about,” Knock Out began, “I swore not to tell another spark. But I need to know that someone understands what I’m feeling more than I need more time.”

“Okay,” Breakdown agreed. “First thing tomorrow?”

“No, don’t let me second guess this.” He in-vented, holding it there until the tremor in his outer plating subsided. “Not like we don’t know how to be quiet.”

“True,” Breakdown laughed. “Want that cloth thing?”

“Sure.” He lifted himself so Breakdown could reach under his head and procure their sheet, a luxury of living in the main base. A short negotiation ensued, ending with Knock Out on top, the sheet draped over him successfully covering enough of the both of them.

Hands gripped his waist, stirring a tirade of emotions in him. “This good?”

“It’s okay,” Knock Out admitted, voice strained. He forced himself to move, rotating his hips and adjusting until he found a familiar position.

At the sound of his array folding away, the grip on his hips tightened. “We can just spark merge, I’m fine with that.”

“You’re getting warmer.”

“Yeah, but I can wait.”

Knock Out steeled himself and bent down until his face was close enough to Breakdown’s to tingle his sensor net. “I don’t do anything halfway.”

He felt Breakdown’s shy grin form. “Only if you’re okay with this.”

Rather than actually answering, he closed the gap between them with a kiss. Such a small thing, but it felt like returning home. The base, the barracks, the others in the room, they all faded to the edge of his awareness.

He wasn’t sure when exactly Breakdown had opened his own array or when they had actually started, so absorbed as they were in this basic need to be close again. At some point, Knock Out allowed himself to move, to feel something good, and to let Breakdown envelope him.

The first crash was uneven, one coming before the other. To fix that became their new propriety. To set a rhythm and to be more aware of each other so that, when the second crash came, there existed a kind of unity.

They fell into one another once more before Knock Out let his chest plates fall apart, Breakdown’s quickly following. Knock Out gazed down at his lover’s golden spark, taking in its familiar glow and pulse. Breakdown tensing, his legs constricting around his waist, brought him back to his lover’s plight.

Bringing his own spark down, just in reach of Breakdown’s but not close enough to merge, Knock Out whispered a little tease. “Yes, love?”

Breakdown clamped his mouth shut to seal in the strained grunt he nearly emitted. In retaliation, he held Knock Out in place and lifted, getting what he wanted and sending their sparks into a merge.

Not for the first time that evening, Knock Out felt himself become whole. The day he had and all the turmoil he suffered spilled out before him and mingled with Breakdown. In return, he experienced his conjunx’s own troubles, from meeting Megatron to his innate anxieties with Dreadwing. Knock Out was no stranger to that kind of stress, so he smoothed the edges plaguing Breakdown’s memories, doing what he could to brighten the darker recesses of his spark. As he sorted through his lover, Breakdown internalized his pain. He lingered on the visions of Soundwave’s scans, on the conversation he had with Hook.

 _He’s right._ The sensation of being held softly was sent his way.

_That doesn’t solve anything._

_No, but I know you want to help Soundwave. This is how._

Knock Out enclosed himself in a mental barrier for a moment, not in any way willing to admit Breakdown was right. Slowly, the barriers faded away, and Breakdown was quick to envelope him.

 _I know its hard_. The admission came with emotions Knock Out nearly mistaken for his own. A dreaded sense of loss, of feeling trapped in this place of grief, and the pain that came with seeing someone else receive what should have been theirs. And then, a feeling not quite like acceptance, but something adjacent to it. _You are going to feel worse if you don’t help them._

He was right. As much as Knock Out wanted to run from this, to scream and to break, Breakdown was right.

They lingered there as Knock Out surrounded himself with his deep seeded emptiness and waited to be found again. In time, Breakdown came, reaching him and banishing as much as he could those terrors that plagued them.

For an eternity of a moment, they clung to each other, wishing for a way to be nearer, to be consumed in this safe space by the other.

The merge ended with a burst of energy, sending both their frames into an overload. They didn’t move as their vents fought to cool them down. Knock Out buried his helm in Breakdown’s neck, careful not to close the distance between their sparks.

It was several breems before either thought to separate and shut their chest plates. Before snuggling back into his place against Breakdown’s side, Knock Out sealed their lips again. The touch was thankful, at first, but turned deeper as Breakdown’s hand came to cup the back of his helm, pulling him closer. They twisted, their fronts remaining pressed together, until Knock Out felt his back meet the berth. Vaguely, he registered parts of his lower half going cold as the sheet fell to the floor.

“I missed you,” Breakdown whispered when they parted. His optics shone a bright glow in his post-intimacy haze, a goofy grin plastered across his face that incited a short laugh from him.

“Me too.” Knock Out ran a hand down that lovely face, tracing the seam between the orange and the blue plating. “Guess what we get to do in the morning?”

Breakdown shut his mouth to prevent a loud laugh from disturbing their peers. “You don’t like the blue accents?” he teased.

“Love it on you, darling, but I’ll stick with my gold.” Grabbing at a short audial horn, Knock Out pulled him back down for another kiss, this one soft. When they parted, Breakdown shifted to place another on his forehelm.

Recharge came to him gently, an ease he hadn’t known since before he carried his son. In familiar arms, in a familiar haze, Knock Out finally felt something resembling okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I was glad to get this chapter out before the new year rolls out. 
> 
> As always, let me know what you think! Wishing all of you a lovely day!


	5. Twin Terrors - Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family reunites for the first time since Knock Out and Breakdown deserted. Things begin to go downhill after that.

The sunlight felt warm against his plating, a warmth not unlike the smile Breakdown was wearing. Those golden eyes were beaming down at him with the loveliest glint of mirth that made his plating tingle pleasantly.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Breakdown said playfully, swinging their held hands between them. He didn’t stop walking, but his gaze drifted down the hall as he visibly held in a laugh.

Knock Out smirked up at him, a few ideas crossing his mind. “You couldn’t lie to save your life. What is it?”

A snort escaped Breakdown as he chanced a glance down at him. “Think Dreadwing’s beginning to hate you.”

“Is he, now?” Knock Out sang. “Can’t _imagine_ why.”

Breakdown’s pace slowed as he struggled to rein in his giggles. Shaking his helm, he managed to say, “Every time he’d look at you, he’d just—” he covered he mouth to collect himself “—he just looked so frustrated.”

“So, he isn’t fuming, yet?” Knock Out made a dissatisfied noise. “I should try harder.”

“Try _less_.”

“That’s understood.”

They had to come to a stop to let Breakdown bend over as he laughed hard enough to squeeze his optics shut and make his plating shake. “He...he really doesn’t know what to do.”

“He’s never going to know how to deal with me if I have anything to say about it.” Knock Out tried to tug Breakdown back, but his lover just leaned against the window for support. With a teasing smirk, Knock Out leaned close. “You know what he told me today?”

“What?” he huffed out, his laughter slowing to pay attention.

“That it would be ‘quite impressive’ if I could learn to split a mech in two without scratching my paintjob.”

His lover’s giggles started up again, his face splitting into a cheery grin Knock Out couldn’t tear his gaze away from. With a hard ex-vent, Breakdown calmed down, leaving behind a soft smile. Had it stayed that way, Knock Out was sure he wouldn’t have done a thing to disturb the gentle expression. But he had to speak up when brightness in his optics dimmed, turning his smile sad.

“What is it?” he asked, hesitantly serious.

Breakdown looked away, to something in the distance. Outside was Kaon with its jagged mountains off on the horizon, trying their best to block out the sun, and the long stretches of plains the base occupied. “Not nothing.”

That tone, the change from relaxed to tense. Knock Out cycled his vents as his anxiety spiked. He knew this was inevitable, but as the decacycles passed and he made little to no progress with combat, he had convinced himself that Breakdown, too, was at a standstill.

“When and where?”

“Two and half decacycles. Somewhere close though. Esserlon, I think.”

“You ‘think’?”

Breakdown just shrugged, fidgeting with the window latch. “The thing didn’t say much. Was talking with some mechs in training, though. They said there’s a battle going on over Petrex, and they’re all being deployed same time as me, so...”

“So...you won’t be alone?”

“No,” Breakdown assured, “Sixshot’s in the same division as me. And Dee’s been over there for a few cycles now. Pretty sure his in the same one, too.”

“Sixshot is the...” Knock Out paused, searching for a polite word.

“The lunatic,” Breakdown finished. “Yeah, he was asking me if he could run out in front and I tail him.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Keeps all the enemy fire focused on him. He’d do all the killing, I’d make sure no one scrapes our backsides.”

“You agreed, then?”

“I wasn’t passing that up.”

“That’s one less thing to fret over.” Knock Out in-vented slowly, focusing on the air rushing through his vents. “I worried about you less when you were with others. I’ll say what I will about the Wreckers, but at least I knew they would try to bring you back alive.”

Breakdown went quiet, returning to fiddling with the latch. “I don’t think these actually open,” he muttered.

It was a blatant change of topics, and one Knock Out was more than willing to humor. He pushed himself off the wall to properly investigate the window Breakdown leaned against as well as the one next to it. Both looked as identical as Decepticon architecture could manage, right down to the simple looking fasteners at their bases. When he pushed on the other window’s latch, it remained as unwilling as Breakdown’s.

He hummed thoughtfully as he walked back to Breakdown’s side. “Maybe they only open for emergencies?”

“Base goes on lockdown and the windows fling open?”

Knock Out huffed at the mocking tone, quirking his brows up to feign offense. “I was _thinking_ more along the lines of a fire or—”

“Guess who!”

A hand to his back shoved his chest against the window’s ledge before he had a chance to turn around. The world began to fold around him, so he flung his servo out to reach for Breakdown. Their hands intertwined just before the hallway and the view of Kaon rotated away.

Woefully unprepared, Knock Out didn’t have the option to orient himself in any dignifying way before he and Breakdown were thrown back into reality. Fortunately for him, he came out on top. But gone was the warmth, replaced by a chilled wind. When he pushed himself up to glare at a laughing Skywarp, the sky was darkened by night.

“Thought you were getting better at this?” Warp teased with a smirk.

“Come back in a joor, Warp.”

Knock Out twisted around to throw an even harder glare towards Pharma. “I don’t _have_ a joor to waste on you.”

“Trust me,” Pharma assured, sarcasm on the edge of his voice. “You have the time.”

Breakdown sat up, causing Knock Out to slip down into his lap. “We don’t though.”

“People will notice we’re gone.”

Skywarp laughed mischievously, like a youngling who knew far more than he ought to. “Nah! I have a habit of locking people in storage closets. You’ll be fine!” Pointing a digit at Pharma, he asked, “A whole joor?”

Pharma just nodded, the only cue Skywarp needed to teleport away.

Pushing off Breakdown, Knock Out ran over to the flyer. “Are you an idiot?”

“Not last I checked—”

“You don’t think two ex-Autobots being MIA for so long isn’t going to make at least some people suspicious?”

“Where could you possibly go? Aside from, evidently, a locked storage closet.” The urge to slap that grin right off Pharma’s stupid face was strong but interrupted when the flyer gestured to the landscape around them. “Look around, Knock Out,” he encouraged in a condescending tone. “Piece the puzzle together.”

A quick glance was enough to actually give Pharma some credit. This wasn’t the same rubble as before. Instead, they were in a kind of jagged terrain, like craters littering the landscape. The three of them appeared to be in one, a shallow thing lined infrequently by irregular walls of spires. All conspicuously lacking the remains of buildings.

He could feel his hope rising, but Knock Out held it at bay. Cautiously, he moved to the crater’s short wall, the only one haloed by synthetic lights. Below the plateau they stood upon, leagues away, was a disturbingly familiar city.

“Iacon,” he whispered. There was no doubting it; the city was bordered by a thick wall on the southern edge, and tall towers reached for the night sky.

“I had to leave Tyrest—don’t ask why—and figured this would do for now. You know what’s in Iacon?”

Knock Out whipped around, nearly bumping into Breakdown, who had come to stand behind him and marvel at the city in the distance. “Where?” he asked, not bothering to hide the panic in his voice.

“First thing’s first,” Pharma chided. “Tell me something that might benefit me.”

“Or _what_? We just stand here awkwardly until the crazed teleporter returns?”

“Well, it’s not like I’ve ever needed big and blue.”

The threat may very well have been hollow, but Knock Out had no intentions of chancing it. He searched his memory in a rush to find absolutely anything to get by with. There was Swindle, but he doubted Pharma would ever do business with someone as unpredictable as him. There were base schematics, but even his and Breakdown’s combined map was incomplete and lacked anything remotely useful. That left only one, glaring fact that he was sure Pharma would find some intrigue in.

There was no part of him that sought to bring Soundwave and his symbiote-in-progress harm. But even the briefest of time with his sons was worth just about anything. So, he chose his words wisely.

“Soundwave is incapacitated for the time being.”

Pharma raised a brow at that. “Really?”

“He got himself gravely injured fairly recently.” Knock Out indicated himself with a proud flourish. “ _I_ managed to involve myself in his care.”

“Details, Knock Out. How long is he out for the count? Are his little pets staying with him? _How_ incapacitated?”

“Oh, the symbiotes won’t leave his side. He’s able to do _some_ work but certainly not his usual. And certainly not outside of Kaon.” He lifted his chin slyly. “As for how long he’ll remain this way... _orns_ if I play my role right.”

That earned him a scheming look. Pharma turned away from him briefly, digesting the information and all the ways the Decepticon Communications Officer being low in activity might benefit him. “Doesn’t do me much good...but a deal is a deal.” He motioned off in the distance to the crater closest to theirs. “Far enough away that Skywarp would be none the wiser. You’re _welcome_. Just come back by the time this joor is up. Otherwise, I’ll let Warp come find you.”

Knock Out was sure he didn’t want to test that. Setting a timer, he rushed to the crater’s edge where the land smoothed out enough to drive, Breakdown immediately tailgating him. They didn’t waste another klick and transformed, speeding away as fast Breakdown possibly could.

After only a few klicks of driving, Breakdown yelled over the roar of their engines. “Go ahead!”

He felt guilty. Briefly. In a perfect world, he and Breakdown would greet their sons hand-in-hand. But in that world, he supposed, there wouldn’t be a need to be separated to begin with.

A pulse in his EM field of gratitude to Breakdown paired with a playful veer and Knock Out was racing at his top speed. In a breem, the crater was well within braking distance. Slamming to a stop, drifting stylishly for effect, Knock Out transformed and saw what had to be one of the most beautiful things he would ever see in his life time.

Sideswipe had thrown his servos in the air and was pacing in a small circle the way he did when he was perturbed. Sunstreaker stood nearby, his side facing Knock Out, and looked for all the world like he was going to slap his brother clear off the crater’s edge. The familiar sound of his transformation sequence caused both their helms to turn and stare at him in awe.

Naturally, Sideswipe was the first to move. His son narrowly avoided tripping down the short incline to reach him. When he did, he wrapped his arms around Knock Out, lifting him slightly in his excitement.

“Carrier! You don’t know how much I missed you!”

Knock Out could have cried. Flinging his arms around Sides’s neck, taking in the feeling of his son’s plating under his palms, his spark could have fractured from the massive relief that flooded him. “I have an idea,” he choked out.

Slowly, he felt himself be set back on the ground and the grip around him loosen before slipping away, leaving his core cold. He was warmed rather quickly, though, by another set of arms wrapping around him. Sunstreaker didn’t say a word, just buried his face in Knock Out neck cables. That was all they really needed. To be held, close and with urgency.

But time was precious, so Knock Out forced himself to pull away. Holding his son out at arm’s length, he made to scan him for any blemishes or scuffs. But his assessment was abruptly halted by a set of azure optics.

“You two seem well,” he rushed out, glancing over at Sides to confirm his dread. Instead of that fiery crimson, pale blue stared back at him sheepishly.

“Thanks! I hate it.”

Sunny muttered something inaudible, looking down at the ground through squinted eyes.

“Don’t—I mean, I know this seems...” Polite words failed him, so Knock Out just gave up. “It fragging sucks. But I can see why—”

“Nope! End it there! It just sucks.”

“Many Autobots find other optic shades unsettling,” Knock Out explained, trying to at least sound like he understood what he was saying. “Without me and your sire around, you two may seem out of place. I’m sure Prowl and Jazz just want to help you fit in.”

Sunny lifted his gaze to leered down at him. “Fitting in, my aft,” he muttered. “This clashes with my paint job.”

There, an opening Knock Out wasn’t about to lose. “Speaking of which, you are _covered_ with this dust.”

As if on cue, Breakdown finally caught up, sliding as he came to a stop and causing a small dust cloud to form around the three of them. All was forgiven, though, when he transformed, arms wide open and face split apart by pure joy.

The twins leapt into their sire’s arms like two oversized younglings, grasping at whatever they could to stay lifted off the ground. Breakdown just laughed and hugged them closer. “Miss me?”

“Like you don’t even know!” Sides answered.

Breakdown lowered them both, moving to cup each twin’s helm. “Thinking I missed you two more,” he bragged. “Promise you—” He paused, gaze shifting not-so-subtly between them. “Ah...you look great!”

“Don’t lie to me,” Sunny said, so lowly and deadpanned that it sounded like a threat.

“ _We_ promise _you_ ,” Sides teased, “that we definitely missed you more.”

“Don’t go all negative.” Breakdown shook their shoulders playfully. “You could be neon orange, and I’d still love you.”

Sunstreaker said something Knock Out couldn’t quite hear, but his conjunx evidently did. Breakdown tugged Sunny closer, planting a kiss to his forehelm before he could wiggle away. Despite Sides’s protests and attempts to flee, he was given the same treatment.

“We done with this?” Breakdown asked, receiving two smiling nods. “Good! I ain’t spending our whole time talking just about your optic color.” Releasing Sideswipe, he pointed to the crater the twins had hidden in. “The seeker that got us here could come back too soon. I can probably hide you better in there than in the open like this.”

There was no debating that. The four of them made their way up the gentle slope and into the crater, Breakdown and Sideswipe running up so fast that their son actually slipped, covering himself with enough dust to dull his brilliant red finish. Sunstreaker was far more careful, so Knock Out stayed close to him.

“So,” he started, searching for a decent topic of conversation. “Do you have a supply of paint?”

Sunny hummed affirmatively. “For painting and for my paintjob.”

Glancing over at his son, the claim was difficult to verify. Knock Out pulled out his polishing cloth as soon as they were in the crater and grabbed his son’s arm. Sunny didn’t protest and instead watched in awe as the thickening layer of dust wiped away with ease, revealing his shiny gold.

“I thought you gave me everything.”

“I did,” Knock Out assured. Removing the cloth from Sunny’s plating, he fanned it out for his son to see. “I bought this from a...vender. Of sorts.”

Sunny ran the material through his hand, stopping at the glyphs of Knock Out’s name burnt into the corner. “It’s high quality.”

“You two going to stand there and preen all cycle?” Sides yelled followed by Breakdown’s deep laughter.

It felt almost normal. They all sat down together like they often had in the rec room, gossiping about their days. Sideswipe had far too much energy coursing through him, especially as he began heatedly listing everything that had gone wrong the past orn. He paced, arms flying wildly.

“It’s not just a punishment anymore.” He spun back around. “It’s my legit job now! Monitor duty. Break. Monitor duty. Break. Training detail. Monitor duty. That’s my whole day now.”

Knock Out made to comment, but Sunny nudged him subtly. “He’s exaggerating.”

“I am _not_!” Sides protested, whiping around to glare at his brother. “Prowl said so himself.” Rolling his shoulders back, he morphed his face into a blank expression and dawned a terrible Praxian accent. “’Sides, we want you to have less free time to waste on these idiotic pranks’.” His façade didn’t waver, even as the three of them began snorting at the impression. “’Prime believes you just might become a proper soldier one day. The likes of myself or Ultra Magnus’.”

Sunny nearly choked on the involuntary laughter that erupted out of him, spooking Knock Out a little. “What an idiot.”

“Exactly! Who the frag looks at me and thinks of someone like _Prowl_?” His plating vibrated as he cringed.

“Watch the language,” Knock Out chided.

“ _Whom_ the frag, my apologies.”

“That’s not—proper soldier, you can’t even use proper grammar,” Sunny mocked.

“I’m sure they mean well,” Breakdown offered, but Sides just shook his helm.

“I don’t care what they mean. Prowl, the rest of Command, even the fragging _Prime_ , they’re making our lives miserable.”

“I know none of this is great,” Breakdown said, dropping into the tone he used when dealing with a tantrum, “but it’ll be better for the both of you if you work with the people looking after you.”

Whether Sides picked up on the same seriousness as Knock Out or not, he waved his sire’s concerns away. “No matter what, me and Sunny will be enlisting right after Blue. Command can’t not take in as many recruits as possible, even if one of them is me.”

“Why do I even bother,” Sunstreaker muttered just barely loud enough for Knock Out to hear.

Seeing the chance to change to something far more positive, Knock Out tugged at the helm fin between his digits. “How is Bluestreak?”

Before Sunny could answer, his brother made an obnoxious choking sound. “ _Unbearable!_ ” Picking up his previous pacing, he continued. “They’re always together. Hugging, kissing, giggling, cuddling. It’s awful!”

Much as Sideswipe’s little rant was entertaining, Knock Out focused his attention on his quieter son. As his brother continued to describe all the various ways he and Blue were nauseating, Sunstreaker’s white complexion turned blue, and he took to fiddling with his hands awkwardly.

“I think it’s sweet,” Knock Out whispered.

“It’s not that.” Glancing between him and his hands, Sunny said, “Blue says hello.”

Knock Out paused at that, processing what his son was reluctantly telling him. “How much does he know?”

“Everything.”

With an understanding smile, he pinched Sunny’s helm fin fondly. “I don’t expect you to keep secrets from him.”

“He swore never to tell his creators,” Sunny assured, finally looking up at him. “He’s on our side.”

“It’s not a matter of sides, love. Tell him we said hello, though.” As Sunstreaker nodded, Knock Out gazed at his features. He always tended to lean to the more intense, but his son seemed more strained than usual. They were dirtying themselves sitting here on the ground, but the frown he wore wasn’t one of discomfort. “Is it all really that bad?”

Sunny stopped his fiddling to stare intently at his open palm. “It’s different. Having Bluestreak helps.”

Guilt wrapped itself around his spark. “You regret all this.”

“No,” Sunny assured, pulsing his sincerity over the bond for emphasis. Through the connection, Knock Out was privy to the emotions plaguing his son. They weren’t far off from those the twins struggled through when they first moved to Iacon, but now there was a new layer of longing mixed with grief. “I just...”

“Miss how things were?” Knock Out guessed, earning a sad frown from Sunny.

“It’s stupid. I don’t know why I thought we’d always live in Kima. And now it’s all gone.”

Hard as he searched for the right words to say, there was no combination that would make his son’s pain go away. Sunstreaker was never one for words, anyway, so Knock Out just pulled at the helm fin still in his grasp until Sunny let his head fall just in reach of his. A kiss to his temple wasn’t going to solve anything, but it managed to bring his son some comfort.

Knock Out didn’t think he had the capacity to deal with the loss of their home in addition to all their other griefs. So, he held Sunny close and did his best to ignore the emotions welling in him, focusing on the feeling of holding his son, on listening to the sounds of Sides talking about anything and everything that sprang to mind. It all ended far too soon.

Sunstreaker made a questioning sound when Knock Out pushed himself away and made to stand up. “That’s our cue.”

“What is?” Sides asked, sounding slightly offended.

“Timer went off?” When Knock Out nodded, Breakdown huffed disappointedly. “That a fixed thing? Or do we have a breem or two?”

“Long enough for goodbyes.”

Not as soon as he finished speaking, Sides was behind him, helm buried in his neck and arms wrapped tightly around him. “Fine,” he whined, “I’ll promise to be a little bit good if you promise to make Pharma do this again.”

Knock Out twisted around so he could return the embrace. “As soon as possible.” He could have sworn he felt something wet hit his neck cables, but Sides wiped his face before Knock Out could confirm any tears. Grabbing an audial horn and squeezing it, he smirked up at his son. “Behave.”

“I said only a little bit,” Sides chuckled teasingly.

Reluctantly, he pulled away to trade twins with Breakdown. Sunstreaker forced a smile, one Knock Out mirrored before drawing him close.

A thought—a terrible, unwanted thought—infiltrated his mind and spark, causing him to tighten his hold on Sunny. Knock Out had no idea when he would see either of them again. It could be orns from now, maybe long enough for the both of them to become enlisted. Maybe even deployed. There was no possible way to know when their last moments together would be, a fact Knock Out knew all too well.

“Something wrong?”

Loosening his death grip on Sunstreaker, he said quickly, “No, nothing.”

“Don’t keep us out the loop.”

“I’m not.” With great effort, Knock Out let go, but not before resetting his expression to something more neutral. “You won’t understand this feeling until you have creations yourself, which, mind you, will not be for a long, _long_ time.”

“Of course,” Sunny muttered but pulled him into another hug all the same.

Breakdown’s strict orders to remain in the crater until Pharma came to get them was barely registered as Knock Out walked away. Down the slope, a little ways more, just until they were out of sight and out of audio range. He paused there, waiting until Breakdown returned to his side. They stood for a few klicks in a thick silence until Breakdown loudly cycled his vents.

“That was harder, right?” he asked, voice wavering.

Not yet trusting himself to speak, Knock Out just nodded and let his emotions take a hold of his expression. In-venting slowly, he managed to say, “I think every goodbye from now on is only going to get harder and harder.”

“I’m sick of this already. We should just grab the twins and run.”

“To _where_?” Knock Out extended a servo out to gesture at the world around them, Iacon gleaming off in the distance.

Breakdown didn’t have an answer for that, not that Knock Out expected him to. Throwing his helm back to avoid seeing his lover’s lost expression, Knock Out stared up at the night sky. The array of twinkling stars seemed to move in a random pattern. If he stood there long enough, he could almost feel the planet beneath him turning despite his still stance.

“We need to leave,” he whispered, lacking the will to raise his voice to a decent level. Not that it really mattered. Breakdown was paying enough attention to him to catch what he said.

Dropping into vehicle mode, they made their way back to Pharma, side by side. Especially now, with time so fleeting and emotions so fresh, neither of them wanted to stray far from the other.

At exactly thirty decacycles, the sparklet split and successfully integrated. Nothing abnormal reported. Hook set an approximate date for their “transfer” six orns from then.

It was at that appointment the differences between Soundwave’s form of creation and his became clear. This would only take about nine orns, not thirteen (lucky glitch). The sparks integrated at thirty decacycles, not at around forty, though Hook had mentioned in passing that the last symbiotes had dropped at twenty-two. Soundwave was liable never to outwardly show any signs of the process he was undergoing, which made sense given how small the creations were supposed to be. But most baffling, there wasn’t a true emergence to prepare for. The symbiotes would make their way from the chamber to Soundwave’s subspace compartment without medical interference.

At the halfway mark, Soundwave became adamant. There was something off, though what exactly was anyone’s guess. Hook couldn’t find anything wrong with either twin and neither could Shockwave. That, Knock Out fully agreed with. But Soundwave was a mech of few words, so any he did say, Knock Out tried to pay attention to.

Not _wrong_ , just very different.

At six orns, Knock Out was beginning to wonder. If Hook’s records on the previous symbiote twins were to be believed, then transformation-cog development should have been completed by now, their prominent features should be well defined, and, most concerning, they should have been moving.

With Breakdown away and his own time now mostly devoted to being on-call, it might have been boredom that drove him to sit down at a secure terminal and stare at the two files. Concern over his patient played a role in it, sure, but he convinced himself that this was just a way to pass the time.

On the left screen, Laserbeak and Buzzsaw. On the right, the new twins.

At thirty decacycles, the flyers had long since integrated, their wings were beginning development, and their processors were nearly completed.

At forty-five decacycles, it was easy to see from the scans what each looked like. Their helms were mostly completed, their wings were made and tucked away, their optics were alight, and their spark chambers were well protected by thickening chest plates. Scans showed sparce movement in the form of little twitches.

It was almost verbatim descriptions for these twins at sixty decacycles. Looking back, it seemed nearly every milestone they made was over a decacycle behind their brothers, aside from a few categories. Compared to the flyers, they were gaining mass at nearly twice the rate. Their processors had taken longer to develop, due to being far more complex.

Knock Out stared at the screen, trying to decern if he was merely entertaining a wild idea or was actually seeing significant changes between the two sets of twins. He had never believed Soundwave was wrong in any way, but it wasn’t until he organized everything to neat charts that the host’s claims were given well defined evidence. 

Hook was liable to pass it off. He was a wonderful doctor, but there was a pride involved in being the sole care provider for someone as important as Soundwave. Shockwave, however, was a scientist. His motivations for being so involved seemed to be purely for knowledge rather than prestige or actual aid. Knock Out was willing to guess that if he complied all his findings in a clear fashion, the cyclops would actually listen.

There was no stopping to consider how ludicrous this all was. There was hardly any thought involved if Knock Out was being honest with himself. It was easier to simply act with such complicated matters rather than try to process what it was he was doing. He was involved, yes, but he wasn’t _involved_. He was this outside perspective, numb and emotionless as it analyzed the events unfolding.

Hence why, when he finally found Shockwave’s lab, he knocked without considering the repercussions. As the door slid open, revealing Shockwave’s broad chest, towering stature, and massive arm cannon, Knock Out began rethinking his decisions.

“What do you want?”

He made to answer, but that single, unmoving optic had every circuit in his frame malfunctioning.

“Does this concern Soundwave?” Shockwave asked, deadpanned. “If not, I shall ask you to leave.”

“Yes,” Knock Out burst out. Colleting himself, he handed over a datapad. “I—ah—I found some notable differences between the two carriages that might explain him feeling...off.”

Shockwave’s helm fins lifted as if he was interested. “Come. We will discuss this matter within my lab.” Without further prompting, the scientist stalked away. Knock Out scurried in, least Shockwave change his mind, and closed the door behind him.

The lab looked exactly as Knock Out had expected, which was comforting in a strange way. Everything was excruciatingly neat with various projects lining the large room. Shockwave came to a stop by a massive terminal that spanned the majority of one wall from the floor to the ceiling. A few keys pressed, and a data port lifted from inside the console. Knock Out didn’t wait for further instructions, knowing by now that none would ever come, and shoved the datapad into the port. The main screen at optic level came alive with the various charts and graphs he had constructed along with both sets of twins’ files.

A calm quiet filled the room for several breems, long enough for Knock Out to idly look about himself at the projects lying around. As Shockwave reviewed his work, he tried to remain numb, especially after he caught sight of a disembodied leg sitting casually atop a table.

“Intriguing.”

Tearing his gaze away from the remains of some unfortunate mech, Knock Out straightened just in time for Shockwave to shift his cold focus to him.

“What conclusions do you draw from the evidence you have gathered.”

“Well, I was, um, hoping _you_ would do that part.” When the only response he got was unnerving glare, he looked over the graphs again in search of something to say. “They...aren’t the same as the previous twins?”

“That was understood.”

“Well, they’re not!” Knock Out huffed, failing to hide how offended he felt. “They’re twice the size of their brothers, they have more sophisticated processors and T-cogs, and they’re taking longer to develop.” He gestured tersely at the graph of each twin’s mass compared to that of their older brothers. “They might be like Ravage.”

“Comparisons to Ravage are impossible given her existence predates our records.” Shockwave finally turned back to the terminal and pulled up three separate schematics: one of Ravage, one of either Laserbeak or Buzzsaw, and the clearest scan of the new twins. Indicating the form of one of the twins, he explained, “They appear to have taken on a variant form, one closer in shape to a mech than a creature. My previous hypothesis for Soundwave’s concerns involved this specific trait. Reviewing your data, however, there may exist variations not previously considered.”

“Do they _not_ match other symbiote models?”

“No, they are entirely novel designs.”

Knock Out recoiled like he had been pushed back. “Why wasn’t that ever mentioned?”

“It was understood.”

“Not by me, it wasn’t.”

“That is not my problem.” Shockwave collapsed the images, save the scan, and began sifting through his data again. “Interesting.”

“What is?” Knock Out asked, a twinge of sarcasm in his voice, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“One in-progress symbiote’s mass matches the combined mass of Laserbeak and Buzzsaw at the same developmental stage, accounting for the differences in rate. The same comparison can be made concerning their spark sizes.”

“So?”

“That is notable.” Shockwave shifted his gaze down to him. Rather than the cold glare Knock Out had come to expect, there was the smallest of glints in his optic, as of he was, in his own way, thrilled by this discovery. “It suggests each of these protoforms are developing into individual symbiotes—perhaps similar to Ravage—rather than one entity split into two beings as with Laserbeak and Buzzsaw. Do you have an approximation for a typical sparkling’s mass and spark size at a comparable developmental age?”

“Well...yes. Sort of.” Shifting his weight to one side, he gestured vaguely with a servo. “Spark size doesn’t change after integration, so that would be a simple average. Sparklings are vastly different, though, depending on the frame type.”

“Consider a creation between mechs of Soundwave’s design and my own.”

The odd pairing aside, Knock Out searched his archives for the data packs he had stolen from Pharma so long ago. “About...four to six percent the mass of either of you at emergence so...two percent?”

Shockwave glanced at the terminal before returning his focus to him, the glint still unsettlingly present. “Combining the in-progress symbiotes’ current masses according to our most recent approximation results in a 1.89 percent comparison to my own and a 3.12 percent comparison to Soundwave. In addition, their combined sparks equate relatively to Soundwave’s and my individual sparks.”

Knock Out let the information sink in, the odd correlation standing out amongst all the other anomalies. “They’re...a normal sparkling split in half?”

“Not quite,” Shockwave corrected. “This is highly suggestive of a novel symbiote frame. More intriguing, this suggests said frame is a hybrid.”

“A hybrid?” Knock Out mulled over the word for a klick. “Of a typical symbiote and a typical sparkling?”

“Precisely.” Shockwave collapsed the data displayed on the terminal, saving their findings to a file. “I am impressed by your ability to analyze raw data, Knock Out. Especially given your occupation.”

“Thank you?”

Shockwave moved away from him and the terminal without explanation, heading for the disembodied limb. Knock Out’s spark froze over. “Come.”

He most certainly did not want to. But the emotionless scientist was standing over some mech’s remains, staring at him with that disturbing, curious glint. Several methods of murder no doubt awaited him, but door was likely locked, and resisting might only worsen his situation. Hesitantly, he moved towards his doom, stopping a few strides away from the insane mech just in case.

“I should like you to perform an analysis on this appendage.”

Knock Out stared at it for a solid two klicks. “It’s dead.”

“That is inaccurate. It was never alive.” Shockwave stepped forward, prompting Knock Out to take a cautious step back. Rather than attack him, though, the scientist picked up the leg and held it out in full view. “Most of the innards were successfully cloned, but there is complication in the upper region that prevents energon from flowing effectively to the rest of the structure, and thus preventing further tests of its function.”

The fear welling up in him slowly melted away, replaced by curiosity. “Cloning?”

“That is what I said.”

Knock Out shuffled towards him to carefully take the offered appendage. Rotating it in his hands, there didn’t appear to be any external damage that indicated an energon blockage.

“A medical opinion would, under normal circumstances, be unwelcome. However, you have proven yourself capable of making acute observations,” Shockwave explained. As he spoke, he motioned along the outer thigh, drawing an invisible line down until he paused just above the knee joint. “Energon flow is halted here. Despite numerous scans, it is unclear why a blockage exists.”

“May I?” Knock Out asked, glancing between the leg and the exam table it had rested on. It was over half his entire length and not exactly light. Regardless if Shockwave understood this, he backed away to allow him to set the leg down and begin looking it over. “Is it impolite to ask just who this leg belongs to?”

“I am the current owner.”

Sneaking a peek at Shockwave, Knock Out pulled an annoyed face. “I mean _genetically_.”

“That would be Soundwave.”

Knock Out turned a questioning glare towards the scientist. “You take frequent draws of coding from a carrying mech?”

“He is the most convenient source of genetic material.”

That little bit of information Knock Out decided to stow away for the time being along with the other ethical violations he had involved himself with. It did, however, explain a number of questions he had with the scientist’s involvement in Soundwave’s care. What better way to develop a means of cloning than watching Cybertronian develop unfold?

Nearly a joor later, Knock Out was quite proud of himself. Shockwave and all his oddities were set aside in favor of something entirely new. Damaged bodies, he was well acquainted with, but cloning seemed to require a drastically different way of approaching the body. There were minute details of the frame that, if constructed incorrectly, could lead to a cascade of issues. In this case, the outside of the leg was perfect despite missing its armor. It was within a sophisticated section of wiring and fuel lines that the cloning had gone wrong.

“Here.” Knock Out indicated with a digit the malformed fuel line, holding the leg’s innards out of the way so Shockwave could see.

“There does not appear to be a complication.”

“There does if you know how small a fuel line can be before energon begins to back up. Is it alright if I..?” He tugged at the line.

“Proceed.”

Knock Out yanked the little tube free of the leg, holding it up so the light over the table could catch it’s small channel properly. “If light can’t travel through it, neither will energon.”

Shockwave took the fuel line gently in his grasp, holding it to the light as Knock Out had. “I see. Would I not be capable of locating this on preliminary scans?”

“A deep scan, maybe. If you know what you’re looking for.”

Shockwave set the line on the table, so he could use his single hand to open an image on the local terminal. On the display appeared a detailed scan of the leg. “Locate it, then.”

With a light shrug, Knock Out moved to the screen and, after a brief search, indicated the malformation. “It’s not uncommon actually.” He dragged his digit over to a section in the ped, then to the ankle joint, then to calf. “Clearly Soundwave is alive and functioning, so there must be an issue with the cloning process.” Looking over his shoulder to the scientist and his empty gaze, he asked, “Right?”

“Do not be quick to make such an assumption.” Shockwave reached over and pulled up several files, complete with deep scans of various organs and sections of plating. “This is not my first attempt at cloning. And I do not proceed with my experiments until I have a satisfactory rate of success.”

Whether Shockwave intended for his words to form a threat or not, Knock Out was not about to challenge the scientist. “So, perhaps there was a slight change in methods?”

“Or, more likely, a change is required.” Shockwave gazed down at him, that glint returning. “I will arrange for you to return when I have cultivated more samples.”

The words took a moment to process. “Wait, what?”

“It would be a more efficient use of my time to use your anatomical knowledge to my advantage and come to understand it as the experiment proceeds.”

“So, you...” Knock Out fumbled over what to say. “You want me to teach you? About...legs?”

“Among other various organs. The entire body, as time goes on.”

“Alright,” Knock Out said, giving himself a moment to consider the offer.

“Excellent.”

“What? No, wait!” Realizing his mistake, Knock Out jogged after Shockwave, who quite casually returned to the main terminal.

“You have agreed to offer your opinion on matters concerning my experiments,” Shockwave clarified. “Seldom are provided the opportunity.”

“I realize that—”

“The reason I tolerated your presence as long as I have is due to Soundwave’s trust in your medical skills and intellect,” Shockwave continued, heedless of Knock Out’s attempt to protest. “The only reason I do not simply extract the knowledge I require from you is due to said trust. It would be illogical to eliminate someone Soundwave actively relies on.” Turning his helm so only a sliver of his lone optic was visible, Shockwave said in a low voice, “You are dismissed.”

This was a losing battle, that much was certain. Knock Out awkwardly bowed, not sure now whether to address Shockwave like he would someone of Soundwave’s or Megatron’s status, and took his leave.

Not until he was several corridors away, closer to the barracks than the lab, did Knock Out begin to relax. Stopping in front of a window, he looked out at the gloomy sky that blanketed the sprawling base and covered the mountain peaks with a dark haze.

::Knock Out to Breakdown:: he said, opening their private comm channel. ::When you get a chance, I have an interesting update.::

There was the smallest speck of grime that refused to leave the scalpel. Knock Out dowsed the cloth in more solvent before rubbing the life out of the instrument again. It was a decent stress reliever, he’d give it that, but after several breems of cleaning the same tool over and over, he was ready to throw it across the room.

His HUD pinged, alerting him to a new message. Scalpel completely forgotten, Knock Out rushed to read it.

::TheBlueOne: is that all::

Knock Out wrote several different versions of his response, but deleted all them. There simply wasn’t a way to adequately explain what had happened last cycle over an unsecure line, so he had to choose his words wisely. The last thing he needed was Shockwave coming after him for leaking sensitive information.

::TheRedOne: No. Another one of those ‘swear on your life’ type deals.:: He sent it, confident Breakdown would remember the code.

The speck was gone by the time he received another ping, thanks in large part to the creative use of a blowtorch. Knock Out sat back down, idly polishing a wrench, as he opened the new message.

::TheBlueOne: got you anything else happening purity boring here rite now fight tomorrow::

::TheRedOne: Just as boring he—::

“Knock Out!”

The message sent prematurely as he jerked to attention, wrench clattering to the floor. He calmed down once he caught sight of Hook walking towards him. “Ever heard of the word ‘hello’?”

“No. I have your schedule for this orn.”

Knock Out stood and moved to the other side of his workbench to take the offered datapad. “Not sure it even needs updates at this point. It’s not like much is changing for a while.”

Hook huffed, shoving his fists on his hips. “Heard you took a trip to Shockwave’s lab. Any reason I had to learn about it from Shockwave?”

“I didn’t really think it was noteworthy.”

“Of course, you didn’t think,” Hook spat. He took a deliberate step forward, forcing Knock Out to backpedal until the counter’s edge hit the small of his back. “What about me told you you couldn’t come to me first? That I’m less safe than fragging _Shockwave_?”

“Nothing,” he insisted defensively. “It had far less to do with ‘safety’, or what-have-you. I just figured Shockwave would be more interested.”

Hook held a suspicious gaze on him for an intense moment, as if he were attempting to read his thoughts through his optics. “What’s your aim?”

“My what?”

“Your aim. Your goal.” He jabbed a servo at his chest plates. “You’re an ex-Bot. They’re obsessed with bureaucracy and prestige, and with Glit still MIA, _I’m_ the only thing separating you from some higher status. Are you trying to go around me to win it?”

Overthinking his answer might cause more distrust, so Knock Out elected to blurt out the first thing that came to mind. “What good would _that_ do me?”

“Gain favor with Command, kill me, and leave yourself as the obvious choice,” Hook surmised. “Well, as much as I’d hate to interrupt your little scheme, _I_ am a member of our only combiner team. Kill me, and you’ll have five enraged brothers to look forward to and an even more enraged Megatron.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he smirked proudly. “You’re plan won’t work.”

“ _Plan?_ Hook, that is far more thought than I would _ever_ put into something.” He gestured vaguely at himself. “What part of me would lead you to believe that I—for one—would want the responsibility and—two—would pick a fight? In general, let alone with five massive warriors.”

Hook’s smug expression faltered briefly as he considered that before it morphed into confusion. When he turned away to stare off to the side, deep in deliberation, Knock Out forced himself to relax. There was no way Hook knew anything about Pharma. Besides, he reasoned, his original agenda involved befriending Hook for the time being, so he wasn’t necessarily lying.

When Hook turned back to him, he schooled his expression into something resembling dumbfounded. “Then why did I have to hear from Shockwave that you found something concerning our patient?”

“It didn’t seem like a medical issue. Besides, we didn’t really accomplish anything.”

“Did he tell you about his hybrid theory?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “What does that change?”

“Nothing.” Hook stepped to the side to lean against the counter next him, dropping his voice lower. “It’s ridiculous, anyway. He’s considering hybrids only because it’s something completely new, something he can say he discovered. In reality, this is just another frame type. Probably something similar to what Ravage was.”

“We just don’t have her information to verify it,” Knock Out guessed.

“Right. It just makes far more sense that he’s making two Ravages than that scrap.” Hook cycled his vents in frustration, then glanced down at him. “What else did you say to him?”

“I looked over something for him. Why?”

Hook pointed at the schedule held aloft in Knock Out’s hands. “The only reason Shockwave was talking to me in the first place.”

Curious, Knock Out onlined the data pad, gawking when he noticed the long blocks sectioned off once every decacycle labeled as ‘The Lab’.

“You really didn’t intend for any of this.”

It took him a moment to realize what Hook said was a statement of observation rather than a question. Still, he shook his helm incredulously. “I barely understand what it is he wants from me.”

“What did he have you look over?”

Knock Out paused, considering just what to say. Maintaining Shockwave’s trust was paramount, especially now, but Hook was becoming warry of him. If he refused to be honest, then he risked losing any headway they had made towards a friendship. Certainly, Shockwave would understand that he told his superior if he played the ignorant.

In a quiet voice, he explained, “He’s cloning organs and body parts. I helped identify an anatomical issue.”

“So, he wants you to review cloning failures?” When he nodded, Hook’s face broke out into a grin filled with humor and pity. “You may want to read up on your anatomy files, then. Shockwave isn’t exactly fond of Cybertronian errors.”

“That’s not exactly my strong suit,” he muttered. “Do we still have cadavers?”

“We have a morgue,” Hook pointed out and gestured to an unfamiliar hall. “You could sit in on body-emptying and play around with the broken ones off shift.” Knock Out lifted a surprised brow at that and would have commented had Hook not added in, “I know, I know. Have whatever opinions you want, but don’t complain when your patient needs a fuel pump transplant and there’s ten on hand.”

“Could I just...empty the bodies myself?”

Hook gave him a questioning look. “I thought Autobots were against that sort of thing?”

“This Autobot was decidedly not,” Knock Out sang. “I used to ‘resupply inventory’ on the regular.”

“So, you _can_ be devious,” Hook teased. At least, Knock Out hoped the short laugh and dry tone was all in jest. “Give me that back,” he ordered, pointing at the data pad. “So long as Glit is off frolicking who-knows-where, its my job to reorganize all the shifts.”

“I suppose an apology is in order.”

Hook waved the idea away as he pushed himself off the counter. “Flatline will be thrilled you’re taking his place in the morgue, he much prefers building people. It’s just tedious work arranging everyone.”

“Among the many reasons I wouldn’t want the job.” As Hook shook his helm with, dare he say it, fondness (probably irritation, though), Knock Out chanced the opportunity for information. “Purely out of curiosity and since you mentioned it, Glit is still unaccounted for?”

Hook shrugged casually. “Hasn’t reported back from Tyrest, yet. Hence why I’ve all but taken over his role.”

That was good news. “Congratulations,” he said, letting sarcasm drip smoothly from the word. As Hook huffed and stalked off to another part of the medbay, Knock Out ex-vented all his pent up tension.

At least something was going his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Not a great deal of plot in this chapter, mostly more build up. The next chapter is much heavier, though.


	6. Twin Terrors - Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumble and Frenzy enter life in the most dramatic way possible. Unfortunately for Knock Out, this might be more than he can handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm leaving a warning here for a panic attack. Like I've said before, the effects of losing their son extends far past desertion. Please heed the tags.

Those bright red eyes stared into his very spark, unnerved and unfeeling. It was a threatening glare that sought to shred his chassis if he so much as looked at Soundwave wrong. Not that he planned to do his patient any harm, but his intentions hardly mattered to Ravage.

“Ravage: stand down.”

The symbiote growled lowly and refused to acknowledge the command.

“There is no need to chide Ravage when she is not causing an issue,” Shockwave reasoned. “Knock Out should be capable of doing his job regardless of her presence.”

Hook shorted. “Even I’m a little uneasy. She looks like she’s going to kill us.”

“She is capable of that, yes.”

“Thanks,” Knock Out said flatly. Try as he might to return his full attention to Soundwave, his optics continued to glance over at the symbiote. “It’s really _that_ uncomfortable?”

Soundwave nodded. “Cassette chamber: causes fatigue when occupied.”

“If it’s only when there’s a cassette in there, it might just be due to the newcomers’ late arrival,” Hook offered. “Your body might be reacting to the fact that it’s technically missing two symbiotes. Get all the others out so the new ones can come in.”

“These symptoms were not present in the last carriage.” Shockwave flipped around the portable terminal he held so both medics could see the results of the deep scan. “Rather than a reaction to new cassettes entering the chamber, this could be a result of the migration channel not yet opening—”

“If this is leading to another discussion about hybrids, I’m ending it now,” Hook huffed, looking far passed being annoyed at the scientist. “The channel won’t open until the cassettes are ready to transfer.”

“Perhaps, it never will,” Shockwave challenged. “Rather than migrating upwards, they may be prepared to move down.”

“Like an emergence?” Hook scrunched his face up in confusion. “That’s not how host mechs work! This isn’t a science experiment! You can’t just chase after outlandish ideas like that!”

Knock Out in-vented slowly, trying not to let his rising annoyance show in his features. There was still that psycho lurking in the corner, staring between him and the argument unfolding. That brightness in Ravage’s optics was dimming, though, as Hook became more and more exacerbated by Shockwave’s persistence.

An idea came to mind as he glanced between the distracted guard-cat and the host mech sitting on the med-berth seemingly trying to fade into the background. “Soundwave?” he said in a hushed voice, hoping no one else in the room heard him over the argument ensuing. When he tilted his helm slightly to signal his attention, Knock Out pointed awkwardly to his chassis. “Do they still feel low? Like they’re weight is resting on your pelvis?”

His visor brightened as he nodded. “Sensation: unfamiliar.”

Knock Out hummed, not exactly sure what to make of that. More and more, Shockwave’s stance was making sense, but Hook was adamant about how Soundwave’s anatomy worked. The medic had a decent collection of research on the subject, none mentioning any deviance from basic symbiote creation.

“Let me ask you this,” Hook challenged. “Why would this carriage be different? What could have possibly changed between the flyers’ creation and this?”

Shockwave’s helm fins lifted as if he were excited. “I have several hypotheses—”

“Primus take me now.”

“—the leading being the addition of sparkmerging activities—”

“Privacy: breached. Shockwave: has made point.” The scientist immediately went quiet, shifting his gaze downward to the carrier in front of him. If Soundwave conveyed any disappointment in his actions, Shockwave didn’t appear to react to it.

“Would that...change anything?” Knock Out asked, looking to Hook for some sort of guidance.

“I don’t see why it would.” Hook cycled his vents to calm himself before addressing Soundwave. “I am confident the reason you’re a few decacycles past the date I set is because these sparklings are more sophisticated than Laserbeak and Buzzsaw. I wouldn’t be surprised if your experience with Ravage was similar.”

A throaty growl erupted from the corner of the room. Knock Out whipped around to watch Ravage carefully as she stood with deliberate motions. His back bumped into Hook’s front when the symbiote stalked towards them. “Don’t compare me to these menaces,” she hissed.

“Agreed,” Shockwave interjected. “Without any information concerning her creation process, such comparisons are invalid.”

Hook ex-venting harshly was the only warning Knock Out received before he was shoved forward, a few paces closer to Ravage and her snarling. “Regardless of what you think, Shockwave, an emergence sequence just isn’t likely. I would bet good credits that this will just be an uncomfortable transfer and nothing more.”

“You would then ignore all evidence suggesting otherwise?”

“And you aren’t ignoring the evidence suggesting I’m right?” Hook shot the scientist a harsh glare, almost rivaling Ravage’s. “Soundwave,” he said gently, looking down at his patient with a more neutral expression, “if you want to believe Shockwave, fine. I’ll prepare the medbay for what I know will not happen if it brings you any reassurance. But just know that I—your _doctor_ —am confident everything will go smoothly.”

Soundwave tilted his helm down and considered his options. When he finally lifted his gaze, it seemed to fall on Knock Out.

He was being asked his opinion, he knew that, but there was no good stance to take. Siding with Hook would continue to build loyalty with his superior, but Shockwave was most certainly not someone he wished to stand against in any regard. Both polarizing options Knock Out had no real interest in backing. But looking at Soundwave, at the tension trapped in his shoulders and the widened seams across his abdomen, a potential middle ground made itself known.

Knock Out steeled himself, avoiding both the scientist and the medic as he spoke. “We can give you files on what a true emergence would be like. If that happens, Hook and I will be prepared for it. If it doesn’t,” he shrugged, trying his best to seem casual, “what would we really lose other than time? Ultimately, this is your decision.”

Soundwave nodded, his gaze still weighing heavily on Knock Out. “Condition: variant. Shockwave’s assessment: valid. Hook, Knock Out: prepare for medical intervention.”

“Of course,” Hook complied, bowing his head respectively, but Knock Out could feel the twinges of aggravation in his EM field.

“In the meantime,” Knock Out added, “we’ll wait and see what happens.”

A pinging in his HUD woke him from a fitful recharge. Knock Out checked the ID and, when he realized it wasn’t from Breakdown, rolled over onto his front.

His HUD pinged again. With a huff, he shoved his face into the berth.

It was difficult enough sleeping alone, but it had taken him joors to fall into recharge. His chronometer happily let him know that, after lying awake and tossing and turning and fighting to keep his optics shut, he had only slept for about two joors.

Another ping. Giving up his mission to ignore it, Knock Out sat up and opened the string of messages with a frustrated grunt. All were from Hook, addressed only to him, and sent through their secure line.

::Transfer started. Soundwave is in discomfort, so go check on him then report back to me.::

The next message was a data burst containing a map of the base, a location pinned in the northern section of the base.

::Are you going?::

He supposed if he had to be disturbed like this, Soundwave was a decent enough excuse. By now, Soundwave was an orn over their original estimates, and the twin symbiotes were far larger than expected. How could he blame Soundwave for bothering him when he was too busy pitying the poor mech.

Knock Out heaved himself off his berth and quietly meandered his way around the other slumbering mechs in the barracks. It was deep into the night cycle, so the halls were tinted by low lightening and the scattering sheen from Luna 2. Fortunately, the base was far from silent. Mechs on night shifts wandered the halls, chatting amongst their peers.

The presence of others was comforting, even if he didn’t want to socialize with anyone. There were fleeting looks, casual acts. Two larger mechs walked together opposite the direction Knock Out was heading, but they each acknowledged him, nodded at him, made a point to reassure him with the vaguest of smiles. A femme patrolling the base wordlessly came to his side as the crowd lessened to a vacancy, not parting ways until they rounded a corner and others were spotted. It wasn’t until he finally reached the officer’s corridor that he was truly alone.

For a brief moment, Knock Out hesitated. His hand hovered next to the door, a strange sense of dread burning in it, crawling up his arm, and residing in the deep recesses of his spark before dispersing throughout his body. He shook the offended servo until the numb state he had become accustomed to returned.

All he had to do was sit with Soundwave. Reassure him, perform a few scans when the need arose, but overall, his job was exactly what it had always been: an observer with little input.

It took several tense klicks for the door to open after he knocked. Immediately it became apparent why. The door sliding open allowed Soundwave’s screams to slip through, loud and spark-clinching, followed by a sight that froze Knock Out to the floor.

Soundwave was kneeling on the berth, Shockwave holding him up from behind, the sheets darkened by energon seeping from him.

When the scream finally died down, Shockwave acknowledged him with an accusing glare. “You are not Hook.”

Knock Out’s mouth moved, but the words were caught in his throat. One of the flying symbiotes screeched, alerting him to its presence at the head of the berth. The thing hopped, taking to the air and circling about its host before jetting towards him. It likely would have flown straight through him had Knock Out not dodged inside. He caught himself and made a confused sound as he watched the door shut behind the symbiote.

“Are you...asking to leave?”

Before he could deny it, Soundwave pushed against Shockwave’s hold on him. “Do not!” In his weak attempt to lunge for the only medic present, he stubbled off the berth and fell to the ground on his side. A low moan escaped him before it morphed into another pained scream.

The physician in Knock Out activated and forced him to his patient’s side. With the lights in the room turned off, the only clear sight he had was from what little of Luna 2’s glow shone through the small windows above the berth. But that was enough to confirm the fluids adorning Soundwave and his surroundings were a thick yellow.

Once the wave died down, Knock Out squeezed Soundwave’s shoulder to get his attention. “Has your HUD alerted you to a transformation sequence yet?” When he received a strained nod, he muttered a creative swear.

“Gestational fluids were first noted forty-two breems ago,” Shockwave supplied, now hovering by Soundwave’s peds, “so active emergence should take place within the next thirty breems.”

“I’m sorry, _what_?” Knock Out barked, whipping around to face the cyclops. “Why didn’t you contact us sooner?”

“There was no need.”

“ _Excuse me_?”

“My observations of him have been sufficient. Soundwave was permitted to rest unobstructed and can now be transferred to medical, the most optimal course of action.”

“ _No_ , the ‘most optimal’ plan would have been to bring him in a joor ago!”

“Gestational fluids were first noted _within_ the joor,” Shockwave corrected. “There was no need for concern—”

“I can’t move him now!” Knock Out let his hand be grabbed by Soundwave as another wave of pain began. “The transformation already started, so we can’t go jostling him around!”

“According to the medical file you provided—”

“You are not a doctor!”

“ _Silence!_ ” Soundwave cried, gripping Knock Out with one hand as his other pressed against his bleeding chassis. Shockwave made to speak up, but a hard kick to his shin stopped him.

Once the pain subsided, leaving Soundwave violently cycling his vents, Knock Out tugged the hand he held. “Sitting upright will help.”

“We can return him to the position we were in—”

“Shut up,” Soundwave hissed. Releasing Knock Out’s hand, he reached up to the scientist. “Help me.”

Fortunately for all of them, Shockwave readily complied. Between the both of them, Soundwave was helped to his knees and facing the berth so he could hold himself in place. That gave Knock Out at least a little time to consider their next several breems.

Turning to Shockwave first, he said, “Turn all the lights on. Then find something clean we can wipe the sparklings off with.”

For a moment, he feared the stubborn mech would challenge him, but Shockwave stood up without further prompting and made a meticulous lap around the room. One by one, every light source was turned on, bringing the yellow fluids staining the sheets and the condensation forming on Soundwave’s plating into clear view.

Next, he waited until Shockwave entered the adjacent washracks to address his patient in as much privacy as they were liable to have. “This is not ideal,” he began, speaking in a voice smoothed by experience, “but I know what’s going on and will help you through this.” Once Soundwave nodded at him, he addressed his real concern. “There will be a time right after a sparkling emerges when its vents need to be cleared. You can do this part, but you would have to remove your mask.”

Soundwave tensed at that, but before he could outright deny the opportunity, Knock Out clarified himself. “I know what that means. If you want that moment, though, I can accommodate you.”

That seemed to relax him, his back and shoulders slumping slightly. “How?”

“I just need to either see your lower abdomen or reach it. So, it’s up to you if you want me behind you or next to you. But regardless, I swear the only privacy of yours I’ll breach is the part of your frame I’m tending to.”

Soundwave lowered his helm so that his forehead rested on the edge of the berth, his hands gripping the sheets into tight folds. He didn’t make a decision by the time Shockwave returned with a pile of washcloths, too occupied with another compression racking his frame.

“Where do you need me?” Shockwave asked once the screaming stopped, his voice oddly calm.

Knock Out considered that, deciding for Soundwave’s sake that he might need to wait in the other room. He would have suggested as much had his patient not chosen for him. Soundwave made a whining noise and reached for Shockwave, who gently folded a steady hand around his trembling one. With careful motions, the scientist knelt by Soundwave’s other side and allowed the host mech to latch on to his thick chest plating. To Knock Out’s utter surprise, Shockwave let himself be directed so that he sat on his peds with his back to the berth, Soundwave practically in his lap.

“Hold me,” Soundwave whimpered, and Shockwave didn’t hesitate to do as he was told. With motions that spoke of vorns of cooperation, his gun arm wrapped itself around Soundwave’s waist, under his arm. With Knock Out still kneeling there on Shockwave’s left, the cannon could serve as an effective barrier to his sight of Soundwave’s face.

“Signal to me when the first twin is near its arrival,” Shockwave said. Knock Out shook himself once he realized the mech was speaking to him and looked up at that lone optic with confusion. “I will remove Soundwave’s facial mask when it is time to do so.”

“Understood,” he muttered, searching for any indication that Soundwave was not comfortable with this. When all he did was bury his face in Shockwave’s chest, no small number of unexplained details suddenly made complete sense.

Shoving that bizarre revelation aside, Knock Out situated himself on his aft, slumping just enough against the side of the berth to see and reach Soundwave’s lower abdomen. Hardly comfortable, but this wouldn’t take long enough for that to matter. After another long compression, he pushed lightly on the plating. “Can you feel one of them?”

Soundwave just groaned in response, so Shockwave spoke for him. “There is a significant amount of pressure under where you are pressing.”

Venting to rid himself of a memory, he explained, “I’m going to reach in and assess where he is. It’ll be very uncomfortable.”

Slowly, he pushed a servo into the channel, stopping once he felt something hard lodged about midway through. He spread his digits to reach around the little helm, noting the position his hand took before he removed it.

Knock Out couldn’t stop his mind from bringing forth that feeling of a sparkling’s helm resting in his hand, especially with how unnervingly small this one was. It was as if his processor was refusing to accept this as normal and was supplying his past experiences as evidence. Remember how large Sideswipe’s helm was? Remember the weight of Sunstreaker’s? His was more similar to dead weight with how little he moved. Then again, Knock Out knew that feeling too.

“Just a little bit more,” he breathed out, shaking his hand to bring the numbness back, heedless of the fluids flinging off it.

Ignore personal experiences, he reminded himself, harking back to his days as a resident with the Autobots. Be a doctor, not a friend. Rely on your knowledge, not on your faulty emotions.

The next few compressions passed by Knock Out in a haze. It wasn’t until he could actually see the helm that he acknowledged he was still there. One of Soundwave’s arms was above him, wrapped around Shockwave’s like a support beam, but his other hand was balled in a tight fist and pushing at Shockwave’s abdomen. Once the compression ended, Knock Out reached over to open his fist and place his palm over the little helm.

“Almost there,” he encouraged. “Bare down hard enough on this next one, and you’ll be holding him.”

Soundwave made a strained sound of relief. A slight change took place as Shockwave pushed his partner off him for a moment, so he could reach the latches on his face mask. Knock Out kept his gaze down, focused on his and Soundwave’s overlapping hands.

When the next compression came, he shifted to lean against Shockwave’s thigh and give himself a better position. The rest of the sparkling’s tiny body was freed without much assistance from him, and Shockwave reached down to help Soundwave hold the little thing closer. Confident neither would drop him, Knock Out sat back and waited.

Within a few klicks, a sharp cry filled the room, followed by a series of annoyed clicks and whines. The sounds echoed within him. They pounded against his insides and bounced off his internal walls as if to mock his hollow core. Those walls seemed to constrict with every small cry, suffocating some vital space in him.

A low groan from Soundwave drug him away from himself and back into reality. Reaching into his little window under Shockwave’s cannon, he accepted the tiny form lowered into his hands. With swift motions, he twist around to set the little thing on the berth, wadding the washcloths around him to make sure he didn’t wiggle his way into discovering gravity.

By the time he returned to Soundwave, the mech was struggling through another wave of pain. Once it ended, he pressed against the plating as he had before. “This should go a little faster,” he assured. Pushing his servo in again, he already felt the second twin’s helm securely lodged in the channel.

He was right; it didn’t take much longer for the second twin’s helm to emerge, for the little body to be completely freed and held carefully in his creators’ arms. But it felt like joors to Knock Out. Those clicks and whirls sounding off behind his helm threatened his concentration over and over again, the echoes beginning to stab. They aimed for a place in him that remained heavily empty, landing their blows on his body’s borders.

As soon as the second twin was in Knock Out’s arms, Soundwave slumped forward onto Shockwave. His twist to shove the twin next to his brother was interrupted by Shockwave speaking up for the first time in what felt like forever. “I can assess Soundwave while you ensure the symbiotes are functioning.”

He wanted to protest and wouldn’t have hesitated to insist on switching places were Soundwave’s face not still exposed. It made sense that, for right now, someone his patient trusted would look over him for any signs of tearing or lingering pain. That didn’t make the ache in Knock Out’s spark fade any degree.

Don’t think, he told himself, repeating the phrase over and over again like a mantra. Don’t think, just set the sparkling on the berth. Don’t think, just turn them over, move their limbs, check for any damages. Don’t think, don’t feel, don’t acknowledge what they were or what he was doing.

Who did he think he was fooling? The moment he locked eyes with two beaming crimson eyes, something cracked.

It didn’t matter that the body was animated. It didn’t matter that sharp squeals and clicks were admitting from it. All Knock Out could see were two glowing red orbs backdropped by a grey frame.

His chest tightened, wanting to force out whatever emotion this was, but it was caught in his throat.

The newborn’s colors slowly crawled across his small frame, but Knock Out could barely see past that lingering image. That lingering thought. That vision of what his son would have looked like. His color scheme was hard to imagine, but there were only two options for his eyes. And something about his lovely sweeping features, his delicate detailing, his sleek racing frame, gave Knock Out the impression that clever crimson would have complimented him just perfectly.

A whine refocused his gaze on the little body. It wiggled between his hands, that familiar, soft plating a pleasant feeling under his palm. For the life of him, Knock Out wanted to grip on to it, to shake this perfectly functioning frame until it was his size, until its thick helm morphed into his elegant shape, until its blocky chassis rearranged into his narrow silhouette.

So close...it was so close.

He had been so close.

“Knock Out.”

He tried to in-vent, to calm down, but the sequence refused to cycle. He tried again, then tried to ex-vent, but it didn’t matter what he wanted, his body wouldn’t cooperate.

“Knock Out?”

“Yes?” he gasped, sounding thick and forced even to his own audials.

Shockwave told him something, perhaps containing Hook’s name, but the words wouldn’t process into anything understandable.

“Right.” He wanted to move, at least some part of him did. But that lingering thought wouldn’t leave him. The tiny body cried up at him as his grip around its chassis tightened.

_This_ close.

“Knock Out: dismissed.”

That tore his gaze away from the body. Soundwave was staring at him—when he had been laid on the berth, Knock Out had no idea—with a hand idly wiggling above the older twin.

He let go of the sparkling, backing up several paces for good measure. “Right,” he said. Or at least tried to. The noise he made sounded warbled to the point of being inarticulate. In-venting still proved useless, so he just shook his hands in an attempt to release whatever was invading him, willing that comforting numbness to combat it. “I’ll...I’ll go prep the medbay.”

Shockwave said something, but he wasn’t listening. Knock Out nearly slammed into the door in his impatience to flee the scene and bolted once the hall was opened to him.

Stop thinking. He needed to stop thinking. Thinking led to remembering. Remembering led to imagining. And to imagine was to feel something he wasn’t allowed to anymore.

It would have helped if he could cycle his vents. As he was, his systems could do little more than puff and gasp as he flew down the halls. The air just wouldn’t flow through him. His attempts left his chest twisted and strained. The spaces in his frame where the air should have been seemed to constrict and condense, collapsing him from the inside.

He couldn’t take it. The first storage closet he came across, Knock Out shoved himself inside, heedless of the shelves scrapping against his finish. It was dark and crowded, both settling over him like a blanket. For the briefest of moments, he felt safe.

That untamable emotion purged itself from him in the form of a low wail. As it left him, the floor rose to meet his weak knees and the wall came to hold him upright.

Involuntarily, he made to vent. This time, a short burst of air entered his taxed systems. He sucked in again, earning a little bit more. Cool air shot through his vents, not enough to reach all of him but enough to remind him of the sensation. He pushed it out, expelling the heat that had sat burning through his core. He sucked in, holding on to that cool touch. He pushed out, ridding himself of what he did not need and certainly did not want. Slowly but surely, the function returned to him, an even cycle taking hold of his chaos.

He hadn’t realized he was shaking his hand until his knuckles rapped against a shelf, scuffing it with a harsh screech. His frame shook as the wayward hand was tucked against his abdomen, his body folding over it.

By sheer will did he open his comms. There was still more to this job than what he’d done thus far, and no matter what he was trudging through, Soundwave had just undergone something frightening and was relying on him to keep his sparklings safe. All that he had forced out of himself still hung unseen about him, but Knock Out did his best to ignore it.

::Hook?:: he called, double checking he was on the right channel when he didn’t immediately receive a reply.

Hook eventually picked up the line, sounding as if he were being pushed to the edge and Knock Out was reason for his peril. ::Did you get to Soundwave?::

::Yes.::

::Well? What was it? Did you even think to contact me?::

Knock Out didn’t have the energy to lie. ::No...and Shockwave was right.::

The line wasn’t entirely quiet. Someone nearby growled darkly in warning, prompting Hook to rush as he spoke. ::Alright, but everything is fine? Are you taking care of it?::

::I did:: he huffed with no attempts made to control the annoyance he felt. That Hook’s orders had led him here did not escape him. ::Start prepping a room for recovery. I’ll be there shortly.:: Not waiting for a confirmation, Knock Out closed the line.

Had he knelt there for joors or only a few klicks, only his chronometer knew, but Knock Out didn’t feel any desire to check it. On his own time, he raised himself, drew in a deep gust of stale air, and walked back out into the hall.

If anyone looked his way, they were given none of his attention. The very last thing Knock Out wanted to see was another pair of crimson eyes, kind or otherwise. If anyone came to walk beside him, his pace quickened to escape their calm fields. He didn’t need the reminder that all that was in him was of him and by only him.

When the medbay came into sight, Knock Out didn’t allow himself a moment more to consider what awaited him. Hook he could handle, but part of checking over his patients involved being near them. The very thought of it had his chest retightening.

Knock Out hurried in entirely anticipating Hook’s protests and calls for an explanation. What he was not prepared for was the loud growl of a gladiator.

Megatron towered over Hook, face twisted into a scowl, as he yelled down at the medic with enough force to pin him in place. His fierce expression was made no less intimidating by one of the flying symbiotes sitting atop his shoulder. Neither mech seemed aware of his entrance, but the flyer flapped his wings excitedly, slamming one into the warlord’s face.

“ _What?_ ” Megatron yelled, straightening to glare at his offender. His rage seemed to smooth over once he looked past the symbiote, his intense gaze settling on Knock Out. “What do you want?”

“Knock Out!” Hook cheered, either out of a genuine joy for see him or, more likely, for Megatron’s death glare to be on someone other then himself. “Everything went fine, right?”

“Shut up, Hook!” Megatron snarled. Narrowing his optics at him, Megatron lowered his voice hauntingly. “Soundwave better be functioning, along with his latest cassettes.”

“They are,” Knock Out hurriedly assured. “I—” the words were blocked in his throat, so he went around them “—it was like Shockwave said. Not a—not a transfer.”

“He actually went into emergence?” Hook asked, mouth agape. “I swear on my brothers’ lives, I never would have thought—”

“I don’t care about your _thoughts_ , Hook!” Stepping forward, Megatron pointed a shaking servo at Knock Out. “What happened?”

He opened his mouth with every intention of answering honestly, but the words wouldn’t leave that tightened place in his chest. Sucking in a burst of air, he steeled his resolve and tried again, but rather than the events spilling from his mouth, they welled in his eyes.

“Were you lying then,” Megatron whispered, voice scraping his frame with precise and accurate incisions, “when you claimed they were functioning?”

The word “no” would not, for the life of him, form properly. Instead, his frame clinched around his core defensively, his vision becoming blurred.

“Not lying,” someone said. The voice was nothing he recognized, and he couldn’t see past the coolant to know who it was. “Soundwave is alive. Brothers are alive. Just like I said.”

“As much as I trust your judgement, Laserbeak, Soundwave may have given you comfort over accuracy. My medics must answer for their actions.”

It was a threat, one Knock Out wanted no part of. When tried again to speak, to explain what had happened and that everyone was fine, he did make a noise. It was a strange gasp, though, falling somewhere between a sob and a cry for mercy.

“Primus, I didn’t even think.” Hook’s voice was closer, now, and followed by a warm touch gracing his upper arm. “Just yes or no, is anyone in danger?”

That, he could manage. Collected his mobility, Knock Out shook his helm vigorously in the negative.

“Then go calm down in the breakroom,” Hook suggested. “It’s soundproofed in there.”

Megatron made a noise that sounded vaguely confused. “What’s wrong with him?”

“This is that ex-Autobot from about a vorn ago,” Hook explained. “The one who’s creations died.”

“You mean to tell me, then, that you sent a grieving creator to assist in an emergence?” Megatron accused, raising his tone with every word.

“I didn’t know that would happen—”

“I’m through with your excuses!”

Whatever this was turning into, distance seemed like the best option. Despite how discreetly he tried to slide away, Hook gripped the arm he held.

“Knock Out—”

Static erupted from his throat, at first, but he reset his vocalizer and tried again. “I need to—to go—”

“To the breakroom,” Hook finished. “You’re done for tonight.”

Knock Out shook his helm stubbornly. He didn’t want to be there, to handle more than he already had, but the Decepticon leader was standing right in front of him, a symbiote perched on a jagged shoulder. They were watching him and every mistake he was making, every weakness he was showing.

“Listen to Hook.” All the fury and the fire had left Megatron’s tone to the extent Knock Out barely recognized it. “You have done your part to make up for what you have lost. Now, allow yourself to heal.”

As if he hadn’t tried that, yet. As if there hadn’t been over a vorn of time to try and fill the empty space that glitch of a mech had carved into him.

He must have shaken his head or made a sound of denial because Megatron spoke to him again, calm and smooth like standing under a warm stream of solvents. “I do not know of this loss you feel, nor do you know what your sacrifice means to me. Forget whatever the Autobots have told you. You are worthy of the chance to grieve.”

That was meant to be comforting, somewhere within him he knew that, but his frame seized and constricted, threatening to crush itself. The very last thing he wanted was to hear that voice or listen to those penetrating words as he broke.

Knock Out was stumbling through the medbay before his mind caught up with his body. Subconsciously, he must have known what was happening. Much as he tried to vent again, the air couldn’t fit in him. Coolant had begun streaming down his face in cold beads, and he had to slash at his optics to see. The breakroom couldn’t have been further away, it seemed. With every step he made forward, he felt himself fall backwards.

Stop thinking. About that dark hall, about that fragging mech, about the vivid feeling of being run through.

By some miracle, he found the right hall and the right door.

Stop thinking. About the ground pressed against his back, about the force of his insides bearing down on his core, about the lights above him blinding his sight.

The keypad took longer than it should have to operate.

Stop thinking. Stop remembering. Stop feeling. It was over, it was done. Everyone else had moved on.

The door opened all the same, revealing a vacant room. The overhead lights flicked on as he rushed in and locked the door behind him.

“Stop,” he muttered to himself. As the word tumbled out, so did another stream of coolant. “Just _stop_. Get a hold of yourself.”

His body, mind, and spark refused to listen to him. He pressed his hands to eyes to block the coolant, so he didn’t see that he was falling until the ground slammed against his knees. Against his every will, he cracked.

The scream was so loud, Knock Out didn’t so much as hear it as feel it. His whole body shook in its wake and bent over as it expelled the fire burning in that cavern in his chassis. Despite the effort, the burning lingered, so his body tried again. It was closer to a sob than another scream, but the wailing seemed to dowse the smoldering remains residing deep within him.

He tried to draw cool air into his vents but coughed as coolant was sucked in instead. A moan escaped him, interrupted by the little seizures trying to rid himself of the unwanted fluids in his throat. For a moment, he thought he might purge, but the nausea morphed into a piercing sparkarche. All he could do was cry.

How long had he laid there, weakly collapsed on his side, sobbing for the universe to reverse its course, for the dead to rise and the alive to fall? Had it been joors since he’d given in—or given up—to the broken mess that he was? Or was it merely a few breems ago that he had clutched the place his son had known as home, the place where he failed to protect someone so vulnerable, the last place his son had ever been?

At some point, he realized that no matter how hard he pressed against his plating, he wouldn’t be there. At some point, he came to terms with reality.

Life would continue on without him and without his child. He could no more stop that from happening than he could stop his twins from growing, the sun from rising, the night from falling.

There had been no stopping the question from entering his mind and poisoning his sanity.

Could he not have prevented all this? Was the blame not solely on him? It had been his fault Allodyn had been given that patient. It had been his fault, then, that she had died. It had been his fault for thinking he should walk home alone. So, it had to be his fault—

Knock Out pressed his face into his hands, willing his mind to silence. It didn’t work, of course. The guilt still hung heavy in his spark and in his core, consuming him and filling him.

He collected himself and took another draw.

This needed to end. He didn’t care how, he just needed his mind to shut up and his body to calm down.

A pleasant tingle crawled through his vents. He held it in until the sensation faded, then slowly ex-vented.

How long ago was it? He knew the answer, even if he didn’t want to admit it: long enough.

The overreaction had to end. He had to get a hold of himself. He had to get up, to get a grip, to get sane.

Knock Out leaned more of his weight on the windowsill. One side of his face was still smeared with dried coolant. In his digits twirled the silver rod Swindle had sold to him. Placing one end between his lip plates, he took another deep in-vent, reveling in the sublime state the smoke took him to.

Crysmag was a powerful thing, something he knew from experience. Something else he knew: it had the power to take a person away. Gliss, people called it. A great bliss. A wonderful escape.

It wasn’t a solution, something else he knew. He had driven down this road before and crashed himself into Breakdown’s arms. Looking back, though, it hadn’t really been that bad. Breakdown had worried, but what for, Knock Out couldn’t remember. What he did remember was a magnificent relief from reality.

The only issue now was really just the smell. The smoke was liable to drift into the ventilation systems or release itself into the hall when he did finally open the door. It was an easy solution, though. The breakroom had two thin windows spanning one wall, nearly connecting the floor to the ceiling. He had just fiddled with the latch, deciding to let fate determine what he would do. If it remained as locked as any other form of escape on this base, then he might have just collapsed on the floor again to weep the pain away. Fortunately, it opened with ease beneath his touch.

He held the cycle steady, letting the smoke fill all his empty spaces. Then, after a serine moment free of thought and feeling, he surrendered and allowed the smoke to seep out of his vents into the open air.

The Kaonite sunrise was truly a sight to behold. At least, that was something a number of people had told him. If Swindle was being completely honest, there wasn’t much of a difference here than anywhere else on Cybertron.

He leaned against the wall in his usual spot, in his usual hall, in his usual routine. The sun would rise over the old mining operations in the mountains, crawl across the fields destined to house the base’s expansions, and burst through the hallway in a blind rush to end Swindle’s day. Hence why he started so early.

Normally, people didn’t approach him until just before first light, during the cycle’s first shift change. Which was why a motion down the hall had startled him.

The frame stalking towards him was not one he knew well but not one so easily forgotten. That red shine left an impression on a mech, helped in no small way by that golden trim and that small, sleek waist.

Swindle couldn’t help but grin. Once Knock Out was close enough to hear him, he called out, “Here to restock your paints?”

No reply, not that Swindle expected one. Knock Out had crossed his path maybe twice, but this was inevitable. It took longer than he had expected upon that first meeting, but his stars were aligning now. That fact was made even more evident as Knock Out stepped closer into the better lighting. His frame lacked its luster, his shoulders slouched, and his face was weighed down unattractively by exhaustion.

Swindle’s grin widened.

Any doubts he had over the last vorn concerning his observation skills quickly diminished. All addicts were still the same. They all had a certain kind of hunger in their eyes, like they had lived their whole lives starved of something life giving. It didn’t matter if they claimed they were “cured” or “recovered” or whatever other scrap they told themselves. They had tasted security in captivity, and even an illusion of the sublime was not so easily forgotten.

Knock Out was no different.

Swindle reached into a subspace to retrieve a case of cods and showed it to his customer. “I wasn’t sure at first that you would be interested,” he admitted, “but you managed to reassure me. Not everyone calls crysmag ‘gliss’, you know.”

Knock Out sneered at him, an ugly expression that did no favors to his handsome complexion. “Shut up and do business.”

So, it was recent. Relapsing always seemed to make his customers defensive and snippy. As if _he_ was going to judge them.

Wrist held out, he let Knock Out transmit the payment and swipe the case from his hand without remark. When he saw the amount he was given, though, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity. “It’s 60 credits, not 50!”

Knock Out’s back was already to him, and the stunning mech didn’t bother to face him as he shouted, “Shove it, Swindle!”

Fair enough. There was no reason to incite more anger in the mech, anyway. Knock Out would be back soon enough. So, rather than chase him down or promote any manner of related products, Swindle just watched that gorgeous red finish fade into the darkness of the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Knock Out's downward spiral begins! 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! As usual, I love feedback and thrive on recieving comments!


	7. All You Love is Sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakdown finally returns to Kaon, Soundwave has a crisis, and Dreadwing has reached his limit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will get sad before it gets happy again.   
> Bit of a warning for Knock Out's continued downward spiral. Nothing particularly bad happens to him here aside from some emotional uproar, and you should see where Dreadwing is going with his intervention. 
> 
> Chapter title from Hozier's "Sunlight".

“Well,” Knock Out hummed, a soft smile gracing his face, “I certainly needed that.”

Breakdown stared up him, not really sure how to respond. His lover couldn’t be hiding anything from him, but there were truths he seemed to be downplaying. Even during a sparkmerge, there were justifications and suppressions that made his reality easier to handle.

“You’re quiet,” Knock Out pointed out in that tone he used to accuse without actually accusing. It was odd hearing it directed at him, and Knock Out’s face scrunched up defensively when he didn’t immediately respond. “What?”

“Nothing!” he burst out quickly. “It’s just...I don’t get what happened.”

Knock Out shut his chest plates, cutting off one of only two light sources. It made the rest of the storage closet that much darker, but Breakdown could still plainly see the vacant expression his lover wore. “What’s not to get?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably under that gaze. “The whole thing with Soundwave was hard, I get that. But it was a few orns ago, right?”

“ _And_?” Knock Out pressed.

“What else has been going on?” Breakdown pushed himself up a little more, so he wasn’t craning his neck to talk. “You were doing something with Shockwave. How’s that?”

“Fine.”

“Knock Out,” he said slowly, voice raising only slightly from a mixture of confusion and concern, “nothing didn’t happen to you—I mean, stuff happened. Not nothing. Something.”

“You’re beginning to ramble.”

“That didn’t answer anything.”

“You didn’t _ask_ me anything.”

“Whatever you’re avoiding, I can help—”

Knock Out chuckled incredulously at that, throwing his head back either to hide himself from the light of Breakdown’s still open spark or to build up a cool façade. “There’s nothing to help, love.”

Breakdown couldn’t name it, but something about that short little phrase spoke volumes. It certainly sounded familiar. Maybe it was the tone that brought him back to their small apartment in Iacon. There was always this light odor about his lover back then, a scent he swore he noticed just now.

“Which is it?”

Knock Out narrowed his eyes questioningly. “What are you thinking?”

In a clumsy motion, the smaller frame was brought closer to his chassis by his far stronger arms wrapping him in a secure hug. Knock Out didn’t protest, but his plating tensed. “Syk, crysmag, something else? Which is it and who’d you get it from?”

There was a thick moment of silence in which neither dared to move. They looked at one another, but their gazes weren’t locked. Finally, he whispered, “Crysmag.”

Breakdown nodded, pressing his mouth into a fine line before it released something he couldn’t take back. “Who’s the dealer?”

“It’s perfectly legal here—”

“I didn’t ask that,” he chided, adopting the low, authoritative voice that always seemed to work on the twins. “Who gave it to you?”

“Swindle didn’t just _give_ _it_ to me,” Knock Out said, almost mockingly.

“You bought it? When?”

“What does that matter?” Knock Out shook his helm and used the motion to shift his gaze elsewhere. “I know what a problem looks like. Is it enough to promise that I won’t go there?”

It wasn’t. But Breakdown knew better than anyone what could happen if Knock Out thought he was being attacked, especially by someone he trusted. Did it hurt that he evidently didn’t plan on telling him? Of course. But at least that meant his lover felt guilty over the whole thing. _That_ was enough.

“You promise me?” he asked, forcing himself to speak gently and with nothing but concern.

“I promise.”

“Do you promise that you won’t not tell me something, too? Even if it’s bad?”

It was a brief moment of hesitation, but Breakdown noticed. “Of course.”

There wasn’t much more he could do, then. At least not right now. “I trust you,” he reminded, caressing Knock Out’s back with soothing strokes.

“I know you do,” Knock Out sang, melting into the touch. A hand reached down to their still exposed arrays, a teasing smile playing across that handsome face. “Don’t just tell me, though.”

A distraction, yes, but Breakdown was willing to indulge if it meant his lover would continue to seek him out even for things like this. Rather than ruin any gains by speaking, Breakdown pulled Knock Out into a hard kiss and let their frames grind together again. 

The canteen was as populated as it always was during a shift change. Had he another option, Knock Out would have waited until his usual time long after the crowd had parted, but Breakdown’s schedule wasn’t as forgiving. Not that Knock Out was willing to complain, necessarily, about any spare time they had.

“I know a lot these guys,” Breakdown commented absently. Pointing to a group of massive frontliners, he said, “They’re a good unit. Seem like a decent guys.”

“Thinking of joining them?”

“Krok’s not looking for new members. Besides, they said they don’t meet back here often.”

Knock Out hummed into his cube, taking a sip of his ration to disguise his staring. “They look like they’ve never seen a washrack.”

“We all kind of do,” Breakdown laughed.

He let himself revel in the sweet sound, committing it to memory. When he set the cube down and looked over at his conjunx, Breakdown was back to staring at him with that lovely little gleam in his optics. “Missed the little things?”

“Fragging is good, but watching you judge people is pretty fun, too.”

That got a chuckle out of him. “Good to know,” he teased. Repeating his tactic with the cube, he glanced over at another line of warriors, preparing a snarky remark concerning their unkept finishes. It never left his mouth, though.

The entire canteen fell into a hush as the main doors opened to let in Soundwave. Mechs whispered to one another, some even crouched behind comrades to shield themselves from the Communications Officer’s view.

Breakdown leaned over, nudging his arm. “This about you?”

“I’m not his personal doctor anymore,” he whispered back. Still, he took Breakdown’s hand in his, weaving their digits together for security.

Soundwave didn’t focus on anyone in particular, though, and instead headed directly for the rations counter. The mech managing it—Mixmaster, was it? Breakdown knew him—remained casually calm as Soundwave approached his domain. But with every step the host mech took, the rest of the canteen braced itself, all sounds of life pausing in his wake.

Several seasoned soldiers screamed as two figures burst from Soundwave’s chest and the host collapsed to the ground, the large paneling across his chassis wide open. Twin forms landed on the ground at their host’s peds, bright-eyed and cackling. They looked about themselves, at the countless mechs staring at them fearfully, then proceeded to squeal as they ran away.

“Slag, they are small,” Breakdown gasped. Knock Out side-eyed him, wondering why he was surprised that was the only thing his lover noticed.

“Rumble, Frenzy: return,” Soundwave commanded, rising to his peds calmly.

“No!” the purple sparkling shouted back, stomping for good measure.

Their host made no indication the disobedience affected him. Hand poised above something on his shoulder just above the open panel, he repeated, “Rumble, Frenzy: return.”

Rather than actually answering, the twins took off in opposite directions. Small as they were, their movements were easy to track just by watching mechs leap onto tables or each other in an effort to get out of the way of the renegade symbiotes. It wasn’t so much anyone was genuinely scared of two sparklings, but a Soundwave enraged by harm done to his creations was someone nobody wanted to meet.

“Disobedience: not tolerated.” It was a tone of voice no one with any common sense would think to deny. But then again, Knock Out was well aware how little sense sparklings tended to make. He sipped at his energon, watching as the twins weaved their way through the crowd before running circles around their carrier.

“Punishment for insubordination: severe.”

The red twin came to a grinding halt, face scrunching up like he was inflating with an emotion he couldn’t handle. “No!” he wailed, balling his hands into little fists. As if in reaction to his brother, the purple one hid under Soundwave’s legs.

“Actions: inappropriate.”

“No! No! No!” the red one chanted, hopping with every shout.

“We don’t want!” his brother yelled.

Soundwave tilted his helm as he looked down at them. Instead of attempting more reasoning, he reached to grab the overwhelmed red one. A knowing smirk was hidden behind his energon cube, but it was too late for Knock Out to give Soundwave a warning. Just as he expected, the red twin screamed before his carrier’s hands even came close to holding him. He collapsed to the floor, crying and kicking and wiggling to break free of absolutely nothing. Not to be left out, his brother threw himself to the floor as well.

Setting his cube down, Knock Out had half a mind to go and help, but he couldn’t deny the entertainment value. Shockwave had mentioned during their sessions in his lab that the new symbiotes were “defective”, but this was beyond what he had expected from two beings produced by the most level-headed mechs he’d ever encountered.

The host mech appeared to agree. Soundwave just stood there, staring down at the tantrums spilling out at his peds. For far longer than anyone in the canteen would have liked, he seemed to debate what to do. In the end, both crying sparklings were hauled into their carrier’s arms, their thrashing and volume only increasing. Soundwave, calm as ever, walked to the counter, grabbed his rations, and walked right out, leaving the canteen in a stunned silence.

“That was something,” Breakdown muttered. Knock Out just hummed in agreeance, taking another slow sip from his cube. “Ours never did that. Or did we just never notice?”

“No, I’m fairly certain we would have noticed.” With a deep in-vent, he shifted to release some tension trapped by Breakdown’s hold on his servo. “I haven’t the slightest clue how that happens.”

Breakdown rubbed small circles on the back of his hand. “You okay?”

Knock Out smiled, hoping it didn’t look as tense as it felt. “Just stressed.” Downing the rest of his cube, he pushed himself to his peds. “I need to get going.”

“Thought training wasn’t for another twenty breems?”

“Sixteen, but who’s counting?” Knock Out tugged at the hand he still held. “No harm in getting there early.”

It was there only for a klick, but he noticed. Distrust was an unattractive look on his lover, and Breakdown didn’t do well hiding it. But as quickly as it had appeared, the look vanished, replaced by a forced smile.

“True. I have time to walk with you before I meet up with Dead End.”

Of course. This meant there would be no chance for a detour to a hanger bay, but Knock Out willed his mind elsewhere. Any time they had, they needed to take. So, instead of waving the offer away, he ran a hand along Breakdown’s chin before capturing his mouth in a soft kiss. “Sounds lovely.”

In all honesty, these sessions weren’t without their perks. There was something cathartic about watching a cocky soldier be given a stern lecture by as commanding a presence as Dreadwing. The way their stupid grins straightened under the weight of Dreadwing’s disapproval, their proud stances cowered under his narrowed gaze, their arrogant voices silenced under his authoritative baritone. Most entertaining, the fearful stares he himself received.

No number of stern words or gazes had any sort of impact on Knock Out, a fact that was beginning to unnerve most and incite bravery in a select few fools. Dreadwing hadn’t allowed those few to disrupt themselves or the groups, but Knock Out still ended each decacycle having accomplished little to nothing. That was perfectly fine when he was base-ridden by Soundwave, but his lack of anything resembling motivation was taking a toll on his instructor.

As Dreadwing had become prone to do, he kept a close watch over Knock Out as he passively moved through the starting exercises. It was a gaze he knew rather well, one that promised a rise to a challenge Knock Out hadn’t actually posed.

There was entertainment in that, too, he supposed. Every session, Dreadwing seemed to have a new method for driving him towards success. Every session, Dreadwing was sorely disappointed. It was a game played with fire, but Knock Out couldn’t help but enjoy it.

This cycle was to be no different. The exercise ended with the group breaking apart into their assigned tasks, and Knock Out obediently walked over to his newest toy without needing to be told. Last decacycle, he reached Tier two on this dodging game, and he had plans to remain there as long as he could.

“Knock Out.”

He almost didn’t stop, thinking for the briefest of moments that he was merely imagining the dejection that awaited him at the end of the joor. But he cautiously glanced over his shoulder to see arms crossed over a navy chassis backdropped by steady wings.

“That would be me,” he said casually.

“Make no mistake,” Dreadwing said darkly, verging on a threat, “I do not need to confirm who you are at this point.”

Fair enough. Knock Out threw on a winning grin before he twirled around to properly face his instructor. “Glad I’m well remembered.”

“I grow tired of your antics.”

“Antics?” he asked, feigning innocence. “I’m not sure I know—”

“Enough, Knock Out.” His arms uncrossed. “I was wrong to assume appeals to your vanity would do you any favors.” He took two deliberate steps closer, but Knock Out held his ground. “You are not vain, are you?”

“Well, I do think rather highly of myself.”

“Tell me what you are afraid of.”

Knock Out let his smile fall into a snarky frown. “Try to convince me death is nothing to worry about. See if I care to listen.”

“Do you understand part of the purpose in training you for combat is so that you do not die in combat?”

“I understand that I’m not suited for this sort of thing.” Plastering back on his grin, he gestured to the unoccupied machine behind him. “Hence the slow pace. Speaking of—”

“You are not returning to ignoring activities I have assigned you.”

There was a weighted edge to his voice that pressed against him like a blade to his chest. “Oh?”

Dreadwing moved closer, tapping at something on his wrist port. By the time he came to stand at Knock Out’s side, a hologram had appeared several paces in front of them. “Everyone else is capable of self-management—” he shot Knock Out a terse look before he could remark otherwise “—so I am free to assist you.”

“That doesn’t seem...necessary,” he tried to say, realizing the futility as the words spilled out. “Fine. What are we doing?”

“Discovering why you wish to avoid war.”

“Simple. I’m attractive and enjoy life far too much.” He waved a suave servo at the hologram as if to wipe it out of existence, ending with the hand on his hip. “That’s that done.”

“Hardly,” Dreadwing huffed with the audacity to look amused. “I’ve long since noticed you are harboring a past pain.”

“I _was_ an Autobot once.”

“There was more to it, am I correct?” Dreadwing’s eyes were trained on him, he could feel it, but Knock Out refused to look at him, instead focusing solely on the hologram mech. “There was a battle you didn’t win.”

“That scalpel just wouldn’t let me clean it.”

“I first noticed it when I had you watch the others spar,” Dreadwing continued without missing a beat. “You tend to shield your abdomen. The site of an old injury, yes?”

Knock Out didn’t say a word. His hands had started fiddling without his consent, and only now had he noticed. There was no circuit in his body that wanted to agree with Dreadwing, but he couldn’t deny where his hands had moved.

“So, I reread the file I was given on you. When no answers were found there, I requested your medical records.”

He knew, then. Confusion curled at his features, Dreadwing’s words and actions not quite aligning. “Then you _don’t_ need my input.”

“I do.” His voice dropping impossibly calmer, he asked, “What happened?”

There was really only one option. Sure, he could make a snide comment, but that would only serve procrastination. That didn’t mean every detail needed be revealed, though. “A patient of mine died,” he explained flatly, still avoiding Dreadwing’s gaze. “Her partner blamed me and sought vengeance. I got in the way of his blade.”

A beat of silence, and Knock Out nearly broke his staring contest with the hologram to see if he was actually believed. But Dreadwing spoke again, voice heavy with sympathy. “What did you lose?”

“My license,” he snapped quickly.

“ _Who_ did you lose?”

There was no way in this life or the next that Knock Out was going to answer that. Nevermind that it had no baring on combat training, but it was a past personal matter Dreadwing simply wasn’t privy to.

His silence rang clear, but that didn’t seem to faze the flyer. “I want to hear it from you.”

“You’re a bright mech. Connect the dots.”

“Medical reports are impersonal,” Dreadwing explained, watching his words. “Tell me who you lost.”

Again, he clamped his mouth shut. Even as Dreadwing bent over to stand eye-level with him, Knock Out stared directly ahead, memorizing the blocky shapes of the hologram.

“I want you to imagine yourself right back there,” Dreadwing said, sounding for all the world like he was serious. “This widow is approaching you—”

“I’d really rather not.” There was enough energy in the threat to push any sensible mech to the ground beneath his peds, but Dreadwing persisted.

“Imagine yourself there once more. What had you done then?”

“Nothing,” Knock Out spat, shaking the memory out of his head to no avail. “I couldn’t transform, so I just ran.” On its own accord, the room constricted, the side walls closing in as it stretched out into a hall. The hologram flickered, staring him down with a chillingly vacant glare. He hadn’t even noticed he was clutching his abdomen until the warm sensation of energon seeped onto his servos.

“Part of the purpose in these sessions,” Dreadwing explained slowly as the room froze in its quest for reconstruction, “is so that, when you find yourself there again—” the hologram flickered, gaining his colors before blinking back into near transparency “—you have more options—” Knock Out swore there was the ominous glint of sharpened metal hanging at the hologram’s side “—than to run.”

The fog invading his mind suddenly cleared. Jarringly, the room returned to normal, if far quieter than he had become accustomed to. It took him a long moment to realize why.

The hologram mech was right in front of him now, a clean line sliced dead through its chest where a spark chamber would have resided. Knock Out’s vents struggled to expel a heat in his systems built up by his sprint across the room and the awkward stance he simmered in. He couldn’t move, though. It took enough out of him just to look down at the saw his servo had folded into, at the other arm wrapped tightly around an unfillable cavern deep within his core.

“You have an advantage in your intellect,” Dreadwing was saying, for the first time actually sounding proud of him. “With your anatomical knowledge, you know precisely where to make deep and effective strikes.”

Knock Out wasn’t sure how to process that. The information was nothing new, but it was deeply unsettling. He’d always been capable of operating on a mech, but it was another thing entirely to consider killing one. Still, the mental image of Strife hacked in two by his own hand scorched itself in his memory right alongside Pyro’s demise.

He could feel it, that icy grip anxiety had on him. Gliss would surely thaw him to his sanity, but that option wasn’t readily present. So, when the slightest tremor of anger festered in his spark, he clutched it like a lifeline.

Whirling on Dreadwing before the flyer could lower his hand to his shoulder, Knock Out swung his saw in an imitation of his wildest imaginations. The blades connected with something, which was satisfying in and of itself, and slid across thick armor deep enough to draw a thin stream of energon. The flyer was fast-acting from a lifetime of experience, so Dreadwing took no issue in leaning over and away from the direction he swung, minimizing his damages as much as he could given the close range.

That was all Knock Out really wanted, to feel that protective layer of metal meant to shield a spark from all harm surrender under his will. With Dreadwing off kilter, he took the opportunity to fling himself into vehicle mode. His engines roared as he threw his frame into his fastest speeds, not caring if he miscalculated and slammed into the wall. Transforming just shy of a crash, he fought against inertia to slip out the main door and into the hall.

The plan, if he could call it that, was simply to get far enough away for Dreadwing to decide to let him cool down on his own time.

“Knock Out?”

A soft, confused voice ruined all of that.

Knock Out’s peds screeched as he came to a halt and whipped around. “I thought you said you had plans!”

Breakdown stared up at him from his slouched seat against the wall, just next to the training room door. “Uh...I did. I did say that.”

“Then why are you here?”

He worked his mouth around a lie that just wouldn’t form. With a small frown, he gave up. “I didn’t make plans with Dee. I wanted to wait on you.” Pushing himself up to his peds, Breakdown glanced between him and the closing door. “Which didn’t take very long.”

“I’m _well_ aware.”

“Everything okay?”

“That’s a stupid thing to ask,” he bit back. He didn’t miss the way Breakdown’s eyes tracked him, lingering over the energon slowly flowing from puncture wounds his middle and the saw folding back into a shaking hand. Not wanting to explain and hoping his lover would catch his cues, Knock Out returned down his path to flee the scene.

Of course, Breakdown jogged to follow him. “Wait! What happened?”

“What do you think?”

“Dreadwing get fed up with you?” Breakdown awkwardly tried to slow down once he came to Knock Out’s side, but he was not as naturally quick-paced. “I’m sure whatever he said, he didn’t mean to be harsh—”

“No, I’m certain he meant every word of it.”

“Yeah, but not, like, _mean_.”

“I don’t give a frag what he meant.”

“Knock Out,” Breakdown called out, clearly becoming exasperated by him, “slow down and let’s talk—”

“No!” he yelled, slamming his ped down to keep himself from stumbling like Breakdown did as they came to an abrupt stop. “I just had to relive the _worst_ day of my life! So, _no_ , I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Oh,” Breakdown muttered, his whole body slumping. “I mean...to be fair, we haven’t really talk much about it anyway—”

“Oh, give me a break.”

“— _so_ , maybe if you’re still,” Breakdown gestured vaguely at all him, “um...upset, then maybe we should.”

“That’s rich,” Knock Out laughed humorlessly. “Why even bother? It’s not like you’re still, as you put it, ‘upset’ by what happened.” Breakdown reeled back from the struck chord, but the words kept spilling out like energon from an open wound. “You’ve _long_ since moved on. It’s all in the past, right? I can’t change a slagging thing, so I should just be lucky that I managed to live through it and shut up about it. I get that, I’m doing that, so leave it!”

He didn’t wait to see Breakdown’s reaction, just continued his mad dash down the hall. Turning corners and nearly sprinting did nothing to deter the brute from chasing after him.

“I know!” Breakdown shouted over the loud sound of his own pedfall. “I feel that grief, too!”

Faster than he had time to process, Knock Out stopped, a digit poised in just the right place for it to jab into Breakdown’s chest as the bruiser rushed to avoid a collision. “Don’t you dare,” he threatened lowly, voice rising with his anger. “Don’t you _dare_ compare your grief to mine!”

Breakdown narrowed his eyes at him, whether due to confusion or irritation, he didn’t bother trying to decide. “I know the guilt of being here when our son isn’t, same as you.”

“You have no _idea_ what this feels like! You don’t have any right to say you know this!”

“You don’t think—” Breakdown choked on the sentence, so he in-vented harshly before restarting with as gentle a tone as he could manage. “I’ve had to live with the fact that I wasn’t where I said I’d be for almost two vorns, now. I think about that every single day, that I just wasn’t there when you were bleeding out on the floor about to die.” He shifted on his peds to release some of his tension. “You don’t think I feel it, too?”

He had no answer to that. There was that emotion, again, bubbling up under the guise of anger and frustrations. Willing it to leave him be, Knock Out shook his hand hard, waiting for a numb state of being that never came.

“I have a medbay shift in a joor,” he started, shifting his gaze to the wall to avoid Breakdown’s distressed expression. “I’ll be outside in the hanger bay.”

“Knock Out...”

“We can meet back up later,” he suggested, reaching into his subspace for some sanity, “after we’ve both cooled down.”

Breakdown stayed quiet as he fiddled with the end of a cod until it activated, heating the volatile liquid housed inside. He stayed silent even as one end of the cod was shoved securely between his denta and his back was turned to the bruiser. Even after Knock Out had taken several steps down the hall, not a sound of protest escaped him.

He knew what Breakdown was thinking as sure as he knew his lover was too soft to voice it without encouragement. Coming to a stop once more, back still stubbornly to him, Knock Out ex-vented to force the smoke to cloud about him. “Just say it.” When Breakdown still refused to break his silence, Knock Out whipped around again. “Just _say_ it!”

He didn’t want to actually hear it, especially from his lover, but Knock Out was well aware he deserved it, maybe even needed it. Because here he was once again, faced with a harsh reality, and all he could think to do was run away.

But Breakdown didn’t look angry with him. There were tears falling from his eyes and a pitiful part between his lips, but there was no hint of any of the fury he had every right to feel. “Can I go with you?”

For a moment, he hesitated. Some irrational part of him wanted nothing more than to give in to the fantasy that he was worthy of a redemption as sweet as Breakdown’s embrace. That wasn’t reality, though. Reality was a cruel place of difficult truths, uncaring time, and thick silences. He would do better to accept that now before he was betrayed again.

Drawing a long in-vent from the cod, Knock Out turned back around and fled down the hall.

Time was all relative. Joors could fly by in a flash just as a breem could stretch throughout an entire day.

Whether he wanted them to or not, the decacycles continued to pass. In haze, but passed, nonetheless. Knock Out let himself fall into routine. Wake up, intake a cod before heading to medical, intake during his breaks, go to Shockwave’s lab one cycle and the morgue the next, attend training once every decacycle, intake, pretend to recharge. At some point grab an energon ration if he remembered.

He couldn’t say when exactly it happened, one cycle he simply found himself in progress. Dreadwing had complimented his footwork, then his patience, then his decision making. Before he really knew what he was doing to himself, Knock Out was sparring with the hologram simulations. He told himself it was only to chase the satisfaction that came with slicing a mech open, but reality was never that simple.

All his life, he had been at the mercy of someone else. Rely on his employers to house him. Rely on Breakdown to shield him from others. Rely on his sons to give him a purpose. Rely on literally anyone else other than himself to protect his life.

Perhaps there was some truth to the lie he told himself. It _was_ exhilarating to feel as if he held power over another person’s pain, but there was more to him than lust.

Whatever he chose to call it, the chase was bound to lead him here, standing before Dreadeing, a datapad in hand. Knock Out fiddled with the edge of it, wondering idly how long the breem would stretch on.

“Under normal circumstances,” Dreadwing explained softly, breaking their silence, “I would not have allowed you to be deployed as you are.”

If that was meant to be an apology, the words hit uncaring audials. The blame fell no where near his instructor. Unconscious or not, this change was his and his alone.

“Unfortunately, you made significant progress over the past orn,” the flyer continued. “And given you have long since been cleared for combat by medical, I had little choice in the matter.” A large hand planted itself on his shoulder, but Knock Out didn’t look up. He could see enough of Dreadwing’s stern face reflected in the datapad’s screen.

“I knew what I was doing, I suppose,” he muttered.

“This is far from what you wanted, but know that I have confidence in your ability to survive.”

An odd choice of wording. Knock Out finally broke the gridlock with the blank screen to search Dreadwing’s face for an answer.

“You have made great strides, but I would not encourage you to engage in any sort of combat,” he clarified. “The need for soldiers on the southwestern front is high. That is the only reason you are being deployed.”

Knock Out nodded, hoping the flyer could feel his genuine appreciation for the honesty in his EM field. “What do you suggest I do then?”

“Focus your skills elsewhere. The frontlines are as much in need of medics as they are soldiers.” Squeezing his shoulder, he said, “Just outlive this. We can return to exploring what you are capable of only if you yourself return.” When Knock Out didn’t respond, he shook the shoulder he held lightly and dropped his voice impossibly softer. “Tell me you have something you would be willing to live for. At least _one_ thing.”

Knock Out worried his answer would be difficult to find, but the truth escaped him as easily as any shared smile. “I wouldn’t have avoided this if I didn’t.”

“So...are you...?”

Breakdown nodded, a gradual motion that didn’t lift his gaze from the datapad.

“The same division?”

The stretch of silence was answer enough, but Breakdown still shook his helm in the negative and set the datapad aside. Knock Out just leaned back against the wall, not content to let the awkwardness cloud them but lacking anything to say.

“What do we do?”

A valid question with a complicated answer. There were no alternatives, no other side to run away to. “I don’t know,” he murmured, so low he wasn’t sure Breakdown even heard him.

Warmth flooded his palm as Breakdown enveloped his hand with his own, effectively stopping their fidgeting. Knock Out glanced up at him, letting his uncertainty weigh his features down.

“We get there, figure out the whole layout, and meet up somewhere when the fighting starts.”

Knock Out did his best to smile at the lovely sentiment, but right now, lying to Breakdown was a difficult thing. “And then what?” he signed. “And what if one of us gets harmed on our way to each other? I highly doubt Petrex is _that_ small a city.”

“Smaller than Kima,” Breakdown muttered defensively.

“I don’t not want to find you,” he clarified, squeezing his conjunx’s hands for emphasis. He waited for Breakdown to look up at him before continuing. “I just don’t want to get our hopes up. Private comms will be down, we have our own occupations—”

Breakdown’s golden eyes flashed as an idea hit him. “What if our comms weren’t down?”

As much as Knock Out didn’t want to dim him, this line of thought was not going to lead them anywhere beneficial. “If my report is to be believed, unauthorized communications are considered treason.”

“Yeah, but...” Breakdown shifted, looking for the right words. “But we could talk some other way. Not over a comm, I mean.”

Knock Out prepared a snarky remark, but realization killed it. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Not a bad ‘oh’, just a...I don’t know.” He shook his helm.

Breakdown gave him a moment to process the thought, but eventually, his own awkwardness defeated his patience. “Bonding,” he blurted out.

“No, I knew what you meant.”

“You were just taking a while, so I—I wasn’t sure.”

Cycling his vents, Knock Out pulled at the hands he held until he was situated comfortably in his lover’s lap. He wanted to say something light, to wipe away the worry from Breakdown’s handsome face, but those eyes trapped him. They were widened by hope and brightened by fear from all the unknowns thrown at them. More than that, they were locked on him, the one constant in his life.

Knock Out could feel his chest tightening as his spark pulsed frantically to send energy to his racing mind. The only thought he could conjure was that, of all people, Breakdown didn’t deserve any of this.

“What’s wrong?”

Those simple words fractured him. Shoving his face into Breakdown’s thick chest, Knock Out forced his vents to cycle and calm him down.

“Just everything.” It sounded more like a choking noise than actual words, but Breakdown seemed to understand him.

“Not everything. You got me.” In a loud whisper, he added, “And two pretty good kids.”

“Who aren’t even _with_ us.”

“I still talk to them just about every cycle.”

Knock Out released one of Breakdown’s hands to deal a weak punch to his shoulder. “I know it’s not the same over the bond. And it’s my fault we’re _here_ and not there. I’m going to die anyway, so you did all this for _nothing_.”

“Babe, I didn’t want to be there anymore, either. If I did, then guess what?”

“What?”

“You have to guess.”

“I’m not going to.”

“Then...we’d still be Autobots.” With his now free hand, Breakdown rubbed soothing motions down Knock Out’s back. “We both made a choice. It’s not a ‘just you’ thing or a ‘just me’. Bonding just makes the ‘us’ thing more official.”

Knock Out let the words sink in. Releasing Breakdown’s other hand, he wrapped both arms as far around his lover as he could and gripped his waist with his straddled legs, willing them to become morphed into one entity. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“This isn’t what I wanted for you.” He shut his optics, resetting them to rid himself of the blur in his vision. It did nothing but send little streams of coolant down his cheeks.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Breakdown lightly chuckled.

“You _love_ romantic things.” Wiping his tears on Breakdown’s chest, he continued. “I wanted bonding to you to be this grand occasion somewhere meaningful. There’d be music and expensive engex, and we’d have all the time we desired. We’d bond because I love you more than life not because it’s practical.” Digging a digit in a seam along Breakdown’s back, he murmured, “None of that applies here.”

“Knock Out,” Breakdown said, deepening his voice the way he knew Knock Out loved, “the only thing I want is life with you. We’ll get through the war together, build a life with our sons in it. And I’ll love you longer than I’ll ever live.”

The sentiment was sweet, but the guilt wouldn’t leave him. He couldn’t blend into their lives as Autobots. He couldn’t save their son. Now, he couldn’t even give the person who mattered most to him one of the few things he had ever asked for. Breakdown had never cared what he’d done, where they lived, or how their lives were lead. He just asked for moments.

“I promise,” Breakdown said, hugging him close, “all I want is you.”

A sound vaguely resembling a sob escaped him, but Knock Out collected himself enough to voice the most truthful statement he believed he’d ever make. “I want you, too.”

The smile Breakdown gave him was enough to break his spark, and all he could do was mirror it. Pulling the soft-sparked brute into a kiss, Knock Out willed his negative thoughts to leave him be. This wasn’t a moment they could ever recreate, and by Primus, he wasn’t going to let himself ruin anything else in Breakdown’s life.

When they finally parted, it was to the sound of Breakdown’s chest plates transforming away, revealing the familiar sight of his gold spark spinning contently in his spark chamber.

Knock Out smirked, his own chest separating on its own accord. “Hello there, stranger.”

That got a laugh out of Breakdown, his joy illuminated by his crimson spark’s glow. “I love you,” he said through a grin. “I’ve loved you my whole life.”

“And _I_ ,” Knock Out sang, drifting closer to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his lover’s mouth, “will love you for the rest of mine.”

“And then some,” Breakdown added, a chuckle shaking his core.

It was the easiest thing to slide down and fit their sparks together. Breakdown’s hands cupped his aft and back to support him as Knock Out dug his digits into familiar seams to seal them together.

Their sparks embraced almost as soon as they were within reach. A wave of energy jolted from their reunion, sending a surge of pleasurable sensations down each of their frames. The storage closet faded into the whiteness that followed. They stayed there, suspended in and between themselves, until they fell together into two lifetimes of memories.

The beginning was the same. There was nothing before there was everything. They had each simply woken to the only world they had known for so much of their early lives. Breakdown’s became a meld of light and darkness with the slightest hint of clarity in the form of glowing eyes and biolights. Knock Out’s consisted of every color imaginable arranged in fascinating ways. It was the strangest mix of pain and pleasure packaged into normalcy.

Then came a change. Nothing planned, nothing intended. Breakdown maintained that he hadn’t the slightest idea what it was he was buying, but the memory of watching Knock Out dance in front of him was as clear as it had been the day it was made. Just the same was the feeling of his spark stopping and the awe that washed over him. Knock Out knew as much then as he did now how attractive he was, but there had never been a time before Breakdown that someone told him he was beautiful. It played before them, that quiet moment on the floor of his room as Knock Out’s face flushed and his spark fluttered at the most innocent of compliments.

Life was calm just before their storm. There were quick glances that transformed into longing gazes. Soft brushes of plating became grips of need. An innocent moment watching the sun set behind Velocitron’s skyline shifted into something innate and heated.

Then came the blank. Breakdown still had impressions of the feeling, but they were nothing more than glimpses into the fear and dread that had plagued those joors leading to him meeting Red. Knock Out could hardly blame him. His own mind skipped over any events unfolded before holding a tiny frame in his arms.

It was still hard, but to bind themselves, they needed to blend their pasts. And Red was so central to both of them.

Knock Out offered the many times he had washed the poor sparkling off, the little drawings he’d done of his sleeping face, and the soft smiles they had exchanged. Breakdown tried to focus on the brightest of moments, but he couldn’t hide from the darkness of the mines. Red would shake in his arms as a seeker patrolled his section. His fragile plating had been dented all too often by stone and metal and the death grip his carrier had on him.

They didn’t have to coordinate the rush through all that happened to them. Red’s cries rang in their sparks as did the scream of the other seekers watching their comrade’s head be lobbed off by a miner’s hammer. Knock Out would never forget the ease of his claws tearing a wing nor the small hands that clung to his chest as he ran. What Breakdown recalled was hazier, but the fear and the fire of the crash still rattled him.

Whatever had happened to him between then and being dumped outside, even now, Breakdown couldn’t face, and Knock Out was not going to pry further than was needed. It was a dark time for them both. He had been used to foreign hands taming his frame, but there, people had spoken in a different tongue. There was nothing he could say or do to explain why Red couldn’t be separated from them, and no attempt had been made to explain to him what was going on.

The end was the same. They had each woken to a world they didn’t know, to a wall they couldn’t penetrate, and to the silence of a childless life.

Life began again, regardless. Knock Out was thrown back into the only work he knew while Breakdown was given the chance to elevate. Well, they told themselves it was a chance. They both remembered being dragged away, starved and weakened, into their new lives. Still, a scrap apartment and the sparsest of incomes was far better than they ever received outside of Iacon.

When the riots began, when Megatronous the Kaonite miner lead a movement against the very system that supported and oppressed them, they remembered how difficult it became to share their own thoughts. Knock Out couldn’t recall precisely what was said, but the impressions others’ words left in him was not something he would ever wave away.

Breakdown’s guilt over the matter of sides blanketed their memories of enlisting, but Knock Out pulsed his appreciation. For had they never signed away their lives to the Autobot cause, Knock Out was sure he’d never become more than he had been created to be. They may have never grown this close. The twins, the two beings they wouldn’t hesitate to give their lives for, would have never been created. And they wouldn’t be here, merging their lifeforces in a vow of eternity spent together.

Then there was now. The loss and the grief still weighed them both accompanied by the guilt that came from outliving. Emotions neither had names for spiraled around them, forming a dark cloud around their minds. The empty space left by their son lay between them, no closer to one than the other. It was comforting in a terrible way to feel a struggle plaguing the other.

As their lives washed over them—the friends lost, the drugged hazes, the soft caresses, the blinding smiles—they could feel the very essence of their sparks solidifying into one being. There was a shift in them as the line separating one from the other faded away.

Flashes of their pasts raced to this very moment. Then they stopped, pausing in the blank whiteness, holding there as if to wait for some cue to proceed.

He opened his eyes, the act more akin to becoming aware than actually moving. He looked around, the space he floated in simultaneously nothing at all and everything they’d ever experienced. There was someone else with him or in him, but when he searched for his frame, there was nothing there.

Slowly, as the wave of energy and memory fell from the peak of this surge, he separated into two beings.

It wasn’t actually sight, but they could visualize the other smiling back at them. It wasn’t actually touch, but their hands were intertwined and holding their suspended frames together. It wasn’t actually sound, but they could feel the words coming from each other as clear as sunlight.

_I’m with you._

Vents roared to combat the heat accumulated in the small space.

Breakdown collapsed back, hitting his helm against a wall as his peds shoved against the opposite one. Knock Out didn’t seem any more collected. His lover—his _bondmate_ —was slumped backward across his knees, huffing and looking more dazed than Breakdown had ever seen him.

He couldn’t stop the excitement from spilling out of him. A laugh bubbled up, stretching his mouth into a wide grin. Fondness flooded Breakdown’s spark, but it wasn’t anything he himself felt.

“I can feel you!”

Knock Out’s stunned expression morphed into something more relaxed. Another wave crashed into Breakdown, an emotion falling somewhere between love and affection that made his spark flutter happily. “Me too.” Knock Out shifted to sit up more. “Are you meaning to do that?”

“Do what?”

“Send me...whatever this is.”

“Don’t think so.” Breakdown shuffled so he could properly reach over and hug his bonded closer, not caring if their sparks brushed.

Knock Out muttered a creative curse, but he grinned up at him, a sense of admiration accompanying it. “You think far too highly of me.”

“Nah,” he laughed, pressing a kiss to Knock Out’s forehead. Testing their connection, he imagined holding Knock Out and littering his gorgeous body with as much love as he could muster.

“Well, then,” Knock Out gasped, inadvertently sending him a lovely response to such an act. “Control is something we desperately need to work on.”

“Not a bad thing to practice.” He tried to quirk his brows seductively like he had seen Knock Out do countless times, but his lover just giggled at him. Another wave of adoration and fondness echoed in his spark, the sensation marked with Knock Out’s distinct identity.

It was almost overwhelming but in the loveliest way. Breakdown cupped the back of Knock Out’s helm to pull him into a kiss. Soft at first, then the touch grew heated. He found himself playing with the edge of Knock Out’s mouth and running his hands along the familiar body. None of this was new, but he could feel to some extent the pleasure his touch created across the young bond. Just an impression, but it was enough to send a shiver down his spinal struts.

Knock Out hummed against his lip plates, the vibration trailing down his chassis. “We’ll have to practice often, won’t we?” He ghosted his lips over Breakdown’s. “If you and I ever plan on...” Breakdown nearly whined at the teasing proximity, “...reuniting.”

There shouldn’t have been anything sensual about the word itself, but the way Knock Out sang it made his engine rev. Breakdown pulled at Knock Out’s waist to close the excruciating gap. The kiss was hard and needy, the underlying intent to consume each other flowing freely between them.

“Three decacycles,” Knock Out purred. “We have just three decacycles.” The sound of his array cover folding away was no small distraction, but Breakdown’s attention was returned to Knock Out’s face as his lover caressed his jawline. The detailing in his crimson optics were blurred by the intensity of their light. Breakdown found himself falling into them, trapped in their lustful glow. “Let’s use our time _wisely_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They finally tied the knot! Things are about to really pick up now. 
> 
> As always, let me know what you think! We're headed into a major plot point, so I'm excited for the next chapter!


	8. Something in the Woods Somewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War is the most vulgar madness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, I know, but it is pretty heavy. I'll get the next one up soon!
> 
> Chapter title pulled from the song the opening scene was inspired by: Hozier's "In the Woods Somewhere". You don't need to listen to it to understand the chapter, obviously, but it is such a great song that I have to recommend a listen!

The first thing that registered was the ground. Darkened to a sickening grey, it crawled across his sightline at an excruciating pace that had him questioning if the motion was real. But there was a single stagnate surface of a lighter gold that seemed to exist somewhere beneath the haze.

Then came the hum. A vibration originating from somewhere off in the distance creeped onto his plating. It crossed through his core from his back to his front, rattling his very spark casing. Knock Out flung his hands out to steady himself. His arms moved on instinct to grip the space under his back rather than the ground before him.

That was when reality began to set in. His palms slammed into metal objects reminiscent of Cybertron’s distinct earth. There, the vibrations contacted his servos and ran up his shaking limbs. A rhythmic beating of the planet’s surface that sent a chill up his spinal struts.

His processor moved slowly, but it arrived at an explanation by the time sound came like a high pitched scream. Knock Out narrowed his eyes, not believing his own mind when it supplied that the ground was actually the sky and the ringing in his audials was a sick concoction of violence and pain.

In a frantic search for orientation, he pushed and pulled at the ground until his legs were under him. Kneeling now, Knock Out surveyed his surroundings.

The slightest rays of sunlight beamed down to illuminate the battle ground. In the smog-induced darkness, some mechs were charging on each other while others were crouched behind raised sheets of metal earth. Craters, Knock Out realized, not unlike the ones surrounding Iacon where he had last seen the twins.

His processor stalled. 

Knock Out pushed himself forward, blindly hoping his legs would carry him. He couldn’t, for the life of him, tell between sides. People were either too shrouded by the smog or too covered in energon to see their color schemes, let alone their insignia. So, he raced to the nearest mech. The plan was sloppy, but Knock Out was too focused on finding the Autobots, retrieving his sons, and shielding them with his very body if he had to. There was no room in his mind to consider anything less.

_Wait!_

The mech was large and jagged, but his energon coated back was facing him. If he could just see his eyes, Knock Out figured he stood a chance at knowing who he belonged to.

_Wait! Not here!_

“You!” Knock Out shouted. The mech glanced over his shoulder at him, too swift a motion and too dim a sky to tell what optics he had.

_Not here! Please wait!_

“Turn around!” he yelled, grabbing onto the mech’s arm and yanking. The soldier didn’t resist. In fact, he moved with the pull to backhand Knock Out.

The mech began vigorously screaming profanities, but Knock Out was only focused on the glowing red orbs he sported. Drifting his gaze towards the people shooting at them, he noted a small gap in the line of what had to be Autobot soldiers. Shoving himself to his peds, Knock Out routed a path he could drive through.

_Don’t! Please, turn around!_

Despite looking directly at the enemy, he didn’t see anything hurled towards him until the mech he’d bothered shoved him to the ground. On his back, facing the sick sky, Knock Out watched a grenade fly straight over him.

It landed a short distance behind him, shaking the ground as it detonated. With it came a melting heat that brushed against his helm fins.

“What are you _doing_?” the mech on top of him shout, voice strained and filled with frantic fears.

“I have to get them.”

“Get in line!” He shoved himself off Knock Out’s front, checking his surroundings before coming to a stand. He still wasn’t looking down at Knock Out as he tried to explain, “We all want to take them out, just don’t pull mechs out of—”

His chest exploded. As his eyes faded, Knock Out gazed at the massive hole plowed through his chassis where his spark chamber should have been. The body was already beginning to grey by the time it fell to the ground at Knock Out’s peds.

_What’s wrong?_

Breakdown’s voice echoed in his spark, but this time, Knock Out actually answered. _Someone died._

_Safe?_

Uncertainty clouded his reply. _Yes...safe?_

_Will be. Where are you?_

Knock Out looked about himself, noting the smoldering remains of several mechs behind him and the line of Autobots advancing forward. There was nothing especially unique about the scene.

Then his thoughts trailed to his sons. He cast out into the bonds he shared with them, only to find neither anywhere nearby. They were nations away, still trapped in Iacon, and for once, the distance didn’t sting.

_I’m foolish._

Breakdown fought hard against the notion. _No. Just stay there._ I _find_ you _._

That would have been easier to comply with had the few remaining Decepticons near him not bit the dust. One by one, their bodies collapsed to the earth, their space replaced by mechs with azure orbs.

Knock Out shut his eyes. He could feel the familiar thick oozy of another mech’s energon dripping down his frame. If he had any fortune left, the Autobots would still be too stupid or too preoccupied to notice his life. Small, rythmic vibrations from racing pedfalls threatened his resolve, but he willed his body to be still.

An eternity passed him by, but the sounds of the Autobot soldiers barking orders eventually quieted. He opened a single optic and cautiously glanced around for any lingering presences. When he saw no one, Knock Out rolled to his front, pushed himself to his knees, then eased into an unsteady crouch in shaky motions. There was still a battle being waged not far from where he was, but not a soul seemed to care that he was now behind enemy lines.

No sooner did he come to a stand was he knocked down again. The whirl of an explosive was heard off to his left, but Knock Out hadn’t given it enough attention. Its blast threw him into the air in retaliation. He didn’t spiral, just hurled what felt like several leagues as if he were dead weight.

The ground tried to catch him, but he slipped through its broken grasp. His back burned as he screeched across the earth, breaking off his winglets and boiling his insides. There was nothing to halt him but gravity and friction, so his return to stagnancy came agonizingly slow.

For a brief moment, Knock Out wondered to himself how many times he was going to find himself staring up at the sky. It was a hideous sight he would have believed was foreign were he not certain he was still on Cybertron.

_Pain,_ Breakdown relayed. _From you._

_Fine. I can handle. Find me._

The determination and devotion spilling from Breakdown’s spark was almost overwhelming. And served as a reminder. He couldn’t very well lay here and surrender to the chaos. He had Breakdown to think of.

Once more, Knock Out raised himself.

Had he not just been bodily thrown, there would have been nothing to tell him the landscape had changed. Aside from, perhaps, the blurred lines. People were primarily battling hand-to-hand, here, creating a virtual lake of spilled fluids and disembodied limbs indistinguishable from their owners’ politics. Bodies littered the scene, whether alive or not, Knock Out couldn’t tell from here.

A thought occurred to him. If he could just crouch near a body, then he’d be in a prime position to raid it or save it all while hiding just as he had from the Autobots moments ago. New goal in mind, Knock Out stayed bent on his knees as he pinpointed the nearest fallen.

Just a few paces to his right laid a red and white frame relatively free of energon. It’s peds faced the same direction Knock Out had come from and it seemed to be lying face down. That was promising. Knock Out figured if he, of all people, survived being thrown back by the blast, surely a soldier would have.

Dropping to his hands, he crawled towards the frame. It wasn’t far, perhaps five strides away had he been on his peds, but between stray shots landing on the ground beside him and the burning pain on his back, his progress was slow coming. He flattened himself to the ground as a whirl streaked by, igniting on whatever poor souls screamed behind him. He could reach the mech, though. Knock Out stuck out a hand to shake the mech’s side, to check for any sign he was responsive, but the plating beneath his palm triggered a familiarity that made his simmering energon run cold.

Knock Out rushed to his knees beside the mech, the physician in him noting the fractured crack along the middle of the body’s back. He dug his digits under the mech’s side and lifted, rolling it over to reveal a massive, gaping hole. And the cracked remains of a blue visor and face mask.

“Aid!” he called, receiving no response. A pool of fluids was forming beneath them, so Knock Out refocused his attention on the wound. As he cauterized broken lines, rerouting as many as he could, he surveyed the scene. The hole was not a uniform configuration and lacked an exit wound, as if First Aid had been in an alternate mode when he sustained the injury. His friend’s chest plates were practically gone, exposing his spark chamber and several other scorched organs. The crack on his back, at least, hadn’t breached the protoform.

There wasn’t much Knock Out could really do aside from stabilize him, but the lack of chest armor was liable to demean any aid he offered. Once he was sure his friend would not bleed out, Knock Out frantically searched for another body.

A mech’s cries rang off to his left. Freshly shot down, he was withering on the ground, showing off the sizable crater in his helm. Knock Out glanced about the battle ground before bolting towards him. The mech cried in relief, coolant tears streaming down his now lone eye. A Decepticon emblem was branded proudly on a relatively unharmed chest.

He muttered something, but Knock Out wouldn’t hear it. Brandishing his saw, he decided the most he would do for his comrade was give him a swift end.

No one bothered him as he sliced through the mech’s side, cutting the armor clean off from the tip of his chest to his pelvis. It was only once he ripped it free of the body and turned back around that Knock Out noticed a pair of blue eyes peering at him. He locked gazes with the Autobot, some mech crouching a short ways passed Aid’s frame. He wore a red and white color scheme that seemed to prod at Knock Out’s memory banks.

The mech’s entire front in hand, he shoved his worries away as he used the armor as a full body shield and raced back to Aid’s side. If the Autobot watching them truly wanted to interfere, then he lost his chance to do so.

As Knock Out slid to his knees and began torching the new metal to malleability, a servo weakly grasped at his side before falling back down. He glanced over in time to see First Aid’s helm loll to the side. A sound escaped it, a static whisper that twisted at Knock Out’s spark.

“Just hold on, Aid,” he assured, doubling his efforts to bent the edges of the armor. “You’ll be alright, just hold on.” Gripping his welder with a strength he didn’t know he had, Knock Out sealed the armor on to First Aid, effectively covering his exposed spark from any outside element that threatened his life.

“Knock...”

No longer fearing Aid would die in his hands, Knock Out bent over to assess his friend’s face. “I’m sorry,” he said, throwing on a sad smile. The mask had simply melted away, but Aid’s visor was shattered, stray splinters having lodged themselves in his face’s soft mesh. “I need to remove these.” He carefully pinched two digits around a shard, waiting to see if Aid had even processed his words.

“Hurts...” Aid muttered, a frown pulling at his features.

“Stay still,” Knock Out reminded him.

Glass wounds were bloody things and one of the few instances the ‘do not remove foreign objects’ rule didn’t apply. Out of all possible injuries a soldier could attain, Knock Out had to say he hated these the most. They were messy and difficult and hurt like slag.

Such feelings were all but forgotten, now. One by one, Knock Out pulled out shards without a thought of how much he hated to do so. He just did it, like he had pulled pieces of glass from Sideswipe’s palm after a prank gone wrong. And once the broken glass was removed and mesh carefully welded, he pulled out a cloth to wipe the energon away without a second thought.

“All done,” he sang, as if they were back at the base in Kima, far from any real danger.

“Knock Out,” Aid murmured. He reached up again, and this time Knock Out secured his friend’s grip on his arm with his own servo. “You left...”

“I know,” he said with the tone he used when a twin was upset. He tried to focus on the front panel of Aid’s forehead, but he still saw the glint of coolant pooling on his friend’s face. “I’m sorry.”

“Are we...are we still friends?”

“Always,” Knock Out promised.

A stray shot hit the ground just behind him, and Knock Out twisted around to find his enemy. The red and white mech was still a few paces from them, but he was staring off to the right with wild eyes.

“Blades...” Aid muttered, squeezing Knock Out’s arm as much as he could. “Brother...won’t hurt...it hurts...”

Knock Out would have returned to Aid had movement in the smog not caught his attention. Down the brother’s line of sight were three massive forms. They seemed to be on a rampage, heading towards some target to his right until one of them stopped. Blue eyes glossed over with violent intent locked with his. The Autobot turned with deliberate motions, signaling for the two others to look his direction.

It occurred to Knock Out that he might have placed himself in a bit of a position. Here he was, bathed in gore, standing over an Autobot body. But that became the least of his worries.

The three pairs of eyes bore into him as the figures stalked forward. When they stepped through the haze, their color schemes and detailing came into view. The front most warrior wore a hideous shade of green underneath the bodily fluids streaked across him. His intense glare accompanied a snarl that Knock Out knew all too well.

Pulsing frantically over the young bond with Breakdown, Knock Out tried to relay the danger he was in. _Find me!_

_Near you!_ A strange awareness infiltrated Knock Out’s spark, tugging him from somewhere behind and to his left. He could feel the impression of Breakdown’s exhausted limbs and overworked vents. _Near you!_

Knock Out rounded on First Aid, giving his friend a quick once over. He was out of it, again, with his eyes unfocused, but his makeshift frame seemed to be holding. Those eyes, though, made him hesitate. It just seemed inherently _wrong_ for Aid’s face to remain exposed. His grip tightening around the soaked cloth in his hand gave him an idea. Without considering the solution much further, Knock Out threw his polishing cloth over Aid’s exposed face before leaping to a run, heading straight for Breakdown.

Shouts had him looking back. He stumbled slightly as he watched Aid’s brother leap from his cover to block Bulkhead with his body. His rotary blades fanned out wildly, and his manic cries rang through the air. Together, he and Bulkhead fell to the ground long before the Wrecker came close to First Aid.

That didn’t solve the issue of the other two, though. Knock Out had long enough to give a name to each angry face before he resumed his mad dash. Rotorstorm had brandished his twin blades and Seasrpay his harpoon. Knock Out decided he wanted to get as far from that as possible.

The battle was still being waged, heedless of Knock Out’s singular plight. It forced him to weave passed mechs. Some aimed to kill him while others shot at the Wreckers on his trail. Most were intimately engaged. Frontliners of both sides slammed into one another in viscous attempts to rip the other apart. The chaos forged no clear path, and far too many bodies were thrown about for Knock Out to consider driving a secure alternative. The last thing he needed was to ram himself into dead weights in a fool’s escape.

_See you!_

Knock Out’s spark filled with Breakdown’s sudden hope, spilling over from his own once he finally spotted the most brilliant shade of navy blue.

It died as he felt something strike through his chest.

“Get what’s coming to you, Shiny!”

Knock Out had enough time to register the roared threat as belonging to Seaspray before his frame was yanked back several paces. He flung his legs and arms about in a wild attempt to stay upright and thanked whatever fortune allowed him to land on his knees. His fall forward was caught by the tight hold of the harpoon securely lodged in his chassis.

Breakdown’s panic radiated from his side of the bond. He probed, trying to find Knock Out’s pain and soothe it, but there was nothing but numbness.

The hooked end of the harpoon dug into the armor across his lower chest, the metal itself residing in the narrow space just below his spark chamber. Knock Out figured one well directed yank could knock his spark off its spin or fatally dent its casing.

He was going to die. He could feel the beats in the earth from Rotorstorm’s peds slamming down in his effort to no doubt slice him in two. And Breakdown was still a ways away.

There was nothing he could do aside from hope his death would be swift and painless. If not for his own sake, then for his sons. No amount of suppressing their bonds would keep his death from affecting them. Nor from affecting Breakdown. For the first time, Knock Out considered what would actually happen in the wake of his demise.

Breakdown would follow him. As much as they had promised to live for the twins, they didn’t know how to close their young bond. To shatter it would mean to kill his lover as well.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker would feel not just _his_ death, then. They had already lost so much of their certainty. To lose both him and Breakdown in one fatal move would destroy them in a way death could never hope to.

Knock Out shut his eyes. Not to drown out the world or accept his circumstance. He opened his bond to its limits, blending his thoughts with Breakdown’s as much as his mate would allow. Which is to say, completely.

_I’m coming! Just hold on!_ Breakdown’s panic and grief threw themselves at him.

Knock Out just absorbed it. Higher and higher, his lover’s panic rose until it reached a pinnacle. He could see through his mate Rotorstorm raising a blade as he slammed his peds into the earth to stop, his whole body bracing for the blow.

His servo shifted into his saw with ease. Knock Out twisted around with all the accuracy and passion that came with desperation to face the Wrecker seeking to bring a heavy blade down upon him. He watched as that snarl widened with surprise, then fear, then pain as a saw ripped apart the armor meant to protect his chest.

As Rotorstorm reared back, Knock Out let his arm swing back down over the chord connecting him to Seaspray. It cracked in his wake, the harpoon piercing him relaxing back to its position running straight through him.

Knock Out shifted his focus between the two stunned Wreckers. Rotor had dropped the blade intended for Knock Out’s helm. Seaspray, for his part, took his surprise in stride. Infuriated, he began to run in Knock Out’s direction, but failing to account for the slake in his harpoon’s chord only resulted in a sharp slap to his face.

Rotor was recovering, though, and Knock Out decided he couldn’t allow that. He couldn’t allow himself to fall when it was not just his life to account for. And he wasn’t about to just run away when he had a means of ending things.

Using his built up momentum, he stumbled to his peds and steadied himself to deal another blow. Rotor was towering above him, second blade stretched back to strike while his now free hand clutched at the gash in his chassis. His efforts to stop the bleeding wouldn’t matter. Knock Out swung his saw arm up.

The Wrecker locked gazes with his former medic as the saw’s blades hacked through his neck cables. Knock Out watched with a delirious fascination as the optics immediately turned dark once the helm was severed from the body.

As Rotorstorm’s body followed its helm down gravity’s stream, Knock Out stumbled back. His vision blurred and flickered briefly, worsening when he tried to shake himself back to full awareness. The world returned with a ringing in his audio receptors and a thick warmth trailing down his front and back.

The harpoon was still in him, which he supposed helped matters, but Knock Out could still feel where the mesh had torn. Seasray’s harpoon had been pulled across his body when he had twisted around so impulsively. Energon now oozed from the open wound. He had enough sense to try and assess if it would be better to fall forward or backward, but his vision blurring again made the decision for him.

He fell, fully prepared for the sting to his scrapped back when he hit the ground. But something caught him under his arms. The sudden stop threw his helm back, and his vision flickered as it slammed into something hard.

The first thing to register once his optics reset was a handsome orange face.

_Found me_ , he teased, but his mate was not amused. His spark was still filled with unresolved tension and heightened awareness. Through his eyes, Knock Out could see himself draped slake in Breakdown’s arms, a long gash through his chest. He could also see, as Breakdown shifted his focus upward, Seaspray charging towards them.

There was a time to stand your ground and a time to forfeit it. Breakdown understood this better than Knock Out did, which was why he was surprised to be lifted into his mate’s arms and carried away. Breakdown didn’t listen to his suggestions for violence, just ran as fast as his stature would let him, blindly aiming his shoulder cannon at the Wrecker chasing them. He never had hope for beating anyone at a race on flat ground, but Knock Out didn’t feel him stumble once as they crossed the battlefield. Not even as shots rang out overhead or the ground vibrated under the force of an explosive.

It was the first time Knock Out realized how much ill willed chaos his mate was used to enduring.

Through the haze of his vision, Knock Out focused on Breakdown’s face backdropped by a burning sky. He didn’t need the added tie to his spark to know what Breakdown was feeling. The slightest light from the suppressed sun shown on his lover’s tense features, revealing to all the world how frightened Breakdown actually was. Knock Out swore to himself, he never wanted to see it again.

That was the last thing he processed before the world went dark.

“Are you Breakdown?”

He stood up immediately, flinging the bench he sat on backward in his wake. Breakdown stumbled over it and would have fallen right on his aft had he not frantically gotten his peds under him.

“I didn’t mean to startle you...”

“It’s fine!” Breakdown rushed out, hoping the mech would ignore what just happened. “I’m, um, yes! I’m Breakout—Breakdown!”

The mech, a towering figure with sharp red eyes that seemed to stare into his every flaw, frowned down at him. “If this is a bed time—”

“No! No, I’m not actually doing anything.” It wasn’t in any way a lie. His schedule had been completely cleared (aside from the stray meetings with Dreadwing) the moment medical realized he wasn’t going to leave. They didn’t ask many questions, only mandated he go to the canteen every so often to fuel. Hence why Breakdown waved absently at his still-filled cube, as if that was explanation enough for the stranger.

The massive warrior rolled his shoulders back like he was (thankfully) resetting their entire interaction. “My name is Motormaster. I had been told I would find you in the medbay, but they directed me here.”

“Yeah.” Breakdown scratched at the back of his helm, trying to avoid the accusing gaze. “They kicked me out.”

“Who were you there for?”

Breakdown looked the mech up and down. He was thick and sporting a proud Decepticon symbol on each of his grey shoulders. No aspect of him screamed scheme-y, but still, Breakdown watched his words. “Friend of mine. It was his first deployment, and the poor guy got stuck with one of the divisions Defensor went after. Got beat up pretty bad.”

“Unfortunate for him,” Motormaster agreed. “You might be glad to know, then, that I led the charge against the combiner. We managed to take down their torso and one of their arms.”

That explained First Aid’s condition. Breakdown schooled his expression, shoving down his worries over his friend. “Thanks.”

“Breakdown, I am here because your performances in battle have caught Command’s attention.”

He went rigid. Motormaster wore neutral features that refused to say whether that was a good thing or not, but Breakdown couldn’t imagine how his recent running away from Wreckers would in any way reward him. “My performance?”

Motormaster nodded as he sat down casually on one of the long table’s other benches, subtly glancing around to ensure no one was nearby. “Coupled with your previous involvement with the Autobot Wreckers, I believe you would be an excellent candidate for a new Decepticon private unit.”

Despite the change in height, Motormaster was still looking down at him with the strange impression that Breakdown was beneath him. Add to that his emotionless expression, Breakdown began to shuffle uncomfortably. “My _performance_?”

“The unit is comprised of up-and-coming warriors,” Motormaster explained. “It is not a matter of the quantity of your experience. Just the quality.”

“Oh...”

“Consider this. It will be not unlike the Wreckers’ dynamic, only we do not plan on so freely ridding ourselves of members. We would also be a far smaller unit, comprised of five or so mechs. And, unlike the Autobots, we will be trained to work as one being rather than thrown together into the fray like suicidal _maniacs_.” His even tone shifted at the end, morphing into a weighted hiss.

Consider that, he did. Breakdown had to admit he longed for the security and community that the Wreckers had offered him. Even Knock Out had agreed there were perks to being a part of something so well connected and specialized. And Motormaster had a point. Too often, new members had joined them without much more than a briefing and some light sparing. They were usually gone as quickly as they had showed up.

Still, there was an edge to Motormaster’s voice. It was so close to sounding like the smoothness of Megatron’s commanding baritone, but there was something off about it. “What you mean by training? Like what I do with Dreadwing?”

“Of a kind...” Motormaster shifted slightly, rolling a shoulder back as his arm lifted to rest on the table. “We will be working with the latest in Decepticon technology. As a result, we will work closely with our leading scientists and engineers, and we would remain in Kolkular for quite some time.”

“How long?”

“That depends on our progress.” He leaned back on his elbow, clasping his hands together casually at his chest. “Orns, most likely. A vorn if we are slow to sync.”

Orns...Breakdown ran through his memory banks for his most recent update with the medics. They had told him Knock Out had damaged part of his spark chamber in addition to all the energon he lost. That meant decacycles of surgeries before about six orns for his spark to recover. Chamberlin had assured him he could stay by Knock Out’s side while he underwent the surgeries, but after that...

“That long?” he asked, looking back at Motormaster hesitantly.

The warrior inclined his chin, reminding Breakdown oddly of the look Kup would give them when he knew they were hiding something. “That isn’t a problem, is it?”

Breakdown shook his helm, forcing any lingering hesitation to leave him. “That’d be great,” he admitted. “I mean—I mean I wouldn’t mind, no.”

“So, you’ll accept Command’s request?”

He wasn’t really sure there was a way to say ‘no’, but he still nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Excellent.” Motormaster rose to his full height and walked the few strides separating them to plant a large hand around Breakdown’s dwarfed shoulder. “Then welcome, Breakdown, to Project Menasor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Menasor! Things are about to go downhill.


	9. Collecting the Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knock Out makes another deal, recruitment is completed for Project Menasor, and Hook has harsh opinions on the matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here's the next chapter!

Knock Out flipped the component over in his hand. Thus far, it seemed to match his diagrams more than any of its predecessors, but he knew better than to assume flawlessness. Digging a digit into the circuit board, he made quick mental notes of the wiring before setting the component down and reviewing the notepads covering the work bench.

He didn’t look up from his drawings even as Shockwave’s steps came close enough to be felt through the floor, least his superior notice the knowing grin played across his face.

“Have you completed your assessments?”

“Not quite,” Knock Out purred. When the scientist didn’t respond or walk away, Knock Out side-eyed him. His periphery only afforded a glimpse of that massive cannon arm, relaxed and aimed at the floor. “Keeping you from anything?” he teased.

“No.”

That was a complete lie, but Knock Out couldn’t say he was surprised by the denial. “Avoiding the Pit Spawn?” he jested, confident the scientist still hadn’t figured out what a joke was.

No matter how many times Shockwave simply stood silently as he processed anything with nuance, the uncomfortably long pause still sent a shiver up Knock Out’s backstruts. He finally looked up to check if he had somehow made the mech crash, but Shockwave was just staring down at him blankly.

“You refer to the symbiote twins?”

“...Yes?” Knock Out answered cautiously. The conversation needed to steer in the direction he wanted, so he didn’t need Shockwave suddenly discovering how to feel offended.

“Continuing my work does not translate to avoiding defective cassettes.”

“They’re not ‘defective’, Shockwave. They’re just...misbehaved. Try talking with them about it.” He refocused his gaze on his drawings, picking up one to pretend to inspect it as he considered his words. “I can’t help but _wonder_ ,” Knock Out started, voice as smooth and innocent as he could make it. “Is Soundwave able to... _sense_ I suppose is the right word for it. Can he sense the cassettes the same way I was able to sense my youngling?”

Just as he hoped, Shockwave couldn’t resist educating him. “That should be entirely obvious just by simple observations, but I understand that this is not within your skill set. Soundwave can communicate freely with his symbiotes through a network of host-symbiote bonds. In fact,” he added, sounding almost thrilled, “recent research has shown that his symbiote bonds resemble spark bonds more than they do typical creator-creation bonds, suggesting hosts are more strongly linked to their symbiotes than creators are to their creations.”

Perfect. “Interesting,” he purred, mouth pulling into a smirk on its own accord. “You would certainly know, wouldn’t you?”

Shockwave paused again before asking, “Are you referring to my experience in research?”

“More to your _personal_ experiences.” Knock Out leaned back in his seat, looking the scientist dead in the eye. “I’m sure you know what I mean.”

He didn’t appear to for a moment, but then Shockwave’s helm fins lowered. Just a fraction, but Knock Out fancied himself fairly proficient in the mech’s few expressions. A little flick down meant he was merely annoyed. For them to be this flattened, he was experiencing a tension most would call anger prompted by fear.

“What have you been told?”

Knock Out fumbled for a brief klick. That wasn’t a tone he had ever heard from the scientist before. It was colder, more calculated, and as sharp as any blade. “Nothing,” he answered truthfully. “No one needed to tell me anything.”

“I fail to see what conclusions you could possibly draw from your observational abilities.”

“Isn’t it perfectly _logical_ to assume that if I had enough knowledge of Soundwave’s boundaries to not breach them, then I _must_ know the significance of him letting you remove his mask?”

Shockwave stared at him as if he was analyzing every syllable spoken. Gradually, though, his helm fins raised to their neutral position. “Was that sarcasm?”

Confident the scientist wasn’t on the verge of deactivating him, Knock Out threw on an overly exaggerated surprised expression, servo lifting to press against his chest. “Of _course_ not!”

“Then you are more intelligent than I initially surmised.”

Knock Out let his face fall to a frown. “Thank you, I suppose.”

“You fail to understand,” Shockwave said, voice raising into what Knock Out had come to know as his “commanding” tone. It was intense, sure, but nothing he was going to immediately react to. “Your knowledge of this is a massive breach in security.”

“You two weren’t exactly hiding—”

“Do you fail to understand the severity of the situation?”

“I understand completely,” he said coolly. “It’s not common for a bondmate to survive their partner’s death. ‘We are now one’ and all that. Not to mention you clearly being Soundwave’s only source for cassette creation.” Knock Out grinned proudly. “It’d be a horrendous affair if our enemy knew any of this, wouldn’t it?”

“Precisely.” Leaning down, Shockwave invaded his personal space to peer at him with his cold, lone optic. “What is the price of your silence?”

“What makes you so certain I have an angle?”

“I work with Starscream.”

Knock Out quirked a brow, smirk stretching with the motion. “Don’t loom over me, Shockwave. Didn’t Hook give you orders not to stress out my spark?”

The scientist couldn’t deny the logic, so he returned to his full height and took a step back, albeit with reluctance.

Satisfied, Knock Out braced himself for the answers he desired. “Tell me about Project Menasor.”

Shockwave tilted his helm slightly, a small motion that reminded Knock Out all too much of Soundwave when the host was confused. “Menasor?”

Anxiety trickled down Knock Out’s frame. He had been _certain_ Shockwave would know of the unit Breakdown had told him of. All of the scientist’s experiments relating directly to Megatron—all commissions and “kiss up” schemes—were consistent in their labels. “That’s what the unit is called, isn’t it? _Project_ Menasor?”

“How have you acquired this knowledge?”

“I believe his name was...Motormaster? The brute was speaking to a friend of mine about it in the canteen. Loudly, I might add.”

A little flick of his helm fins had Knock Out mildly concerned, but Shockwave recovered as quickly as his annoyance had appeared. “And this is what you would trade for your silence on the matter concerning my and Soundwave’s partnership? Knowledge of a project that I would have likely given you a staff position in?”

Knock Out froze, blanking at what that was supposed to mean. He glanced over at the component he had been reviewing and his drawings from the morgue. Thinking back, it hadn’t taken much effort to become involved in Shockwave’s experiment. Perhaps, then, he could bargain for more than he initially expected.

“There may be more,” he admitted. “But first, I just want to know what Menasor is.”

Shockwave nodded and began walking over to the main terminal without further prompting. Newly acquired anxiety weighed him down, but Knock Out shoved himself to his peds. His spark pulsed unhappily with the effort it took just to move across the room. Thankfully, Shockwave was conscious enough to drag a chair over for him.

By the time he was seated, the terminal was alive with several tabs opened on the main screen. Shockwave enlarged one of a mech Knock Out vaguely recognized.

“Throughout the course of the war, both sides have been consistently engaged in a stalemate in one particular aspect: combiners,” he began in a practiced speech. Indicating the mech with a digit, Shockwave continued. “The Decepticons have the advantage of Devastator’s larger mass and brute strength, but Defensor has proven to be the better strategist. My answer to this issue was quite logical: create more combiners.”

Knock Out nodded like he understood, but his processor was stalling. He did his best to relay what was being explained to him to Breakdown as his spark tugged at the image worriedly. “I was under the impression combiners were made up of five or so brothers. Hence the _gest_ in _gest_ alt.”

“The key to combination is merely the spark bond.” Shockwave turned away to bring to the forefront a different tab, this one displaying each gestalt member and several data collections. “The gestalt bond is what ties each individual to the collective form, more so than frame compatibility. I have envisioned a method for inducing such a bond between five to seven strangers.”

_How much are you hearing?_

Knock Out could feel Breakdown’s wariness as he replied. _Enough to get it._

“The process will be tedious,” Shockwave continued, “but a successful result would mean a significant advantage to the Deception war effort.”

_That doesn’t inspire much confidence._

Breakdown actually had the nerve to be humored by his concerns. _You can be concerned_ , he relayed, _but isn’t not like Shockwave’s Wheeljack._

 _No, but his failures are less than lively. What if this kills you?_ He couldn’t stop the fear than overtook him at just the thought of it.

 _You’ve almost died twice now because I wasn’t with you,_ Breakdown argued, absorbing Knock Out’s fears with a soothing aura. _I want us on the same team._

_Because getting involved with the Wreckers had been such a fabulous idea._

_We could be sent to different places next time we get deployed. I can’t handle you not being with me._ The genuine sense of grief that accompanied the statement twisted at Knock Out’s spark, forcing him to in-vent to calm himself. _Shockwave could put you on the project, then you and me will be together the whole time._

Of course, Breakdown had a point. Coupled with that pleading feeling tugging at his spark, Knock Out couldn’t imagine refusing him.

“Is your spark malfunctioning?”

Knock Out returned to awareness in time to see Shockwave’s hand hovering near him as if the scientist had planned on poking him to consciousness. “Not that I know of,” he answered, watching as the hand slowly retracted back to its owner. “I was just... _imagining_ ,” Knock Out looked Shockwave up and down, focus sticking to his little helm tilt, “you...caring for another person.”

“Do not confuse care with concern,” Shockwave corrected. “Are you satisfied with my explanation of Project Menasor?”

Truth be told, no. There were a number of details he’d need before he was fully confident in what was about to happen to Breakdown. But, if his lover was determined to see this through for his sake, then Knock Out wanted to be right by his side. “With the overview, yes,” he started, shifting in his seat to remove the remains of his discomfort. “But if you want me to keep you and Soundwave’s little love affair under wraps, then I want a permanent position in the project.”

“That can be arranged. Would you be willing to burden yourself with the responsibilities of being the synthetic-combiner’s primary physician?”

“If that’s no trouble, yes.”

“None. You will simply replace Hook.” Shockwave shuffled awkwardly. “And I am not involved in a ‘love affair’, as you suggested. I do not experience emotions.”

“Wait,” Knock Out said, sitting forward. “ _Replace_ Hook?”

“Currently, only my personal staff and Command know of the Combiner Project. Logically, the current CMO would act as medical support.”

“No, no,” Knock Out laughed nervously, “you can have me be his assistant or something. I don’t need to show up my direct superior _again_.”

“You misunderstand. Hook has made his disinterest in the project clear. There should be no adverse reaction to his leaving the project.”

“’Disinterest’?” Knock Out cringed, in no way confident in Shockwave’s ability to read anyone.

“That is how Soundwave phrased it.”

“Oh.” Knock Out slumped back into the seat with a relieved ex-vent. “In that case, I trust your lover has the right idea about Hook. When would I start?”

“The project will begin once the last member has been recruited. And correction, Soundwave is not my ‘lover’.”

“Who’s the mech? Maybe Brea— _I_ know him?” As Shockwave began to search the terminal files for the answer, Knock Out smirked, adding, “And I would define you two as lovers, yes.”

“His designation is Dead End,” Shockwave responded. Glancing at him over his shoulder, his helm fins flicked down. “And that definition requires reciprocated emotions I do not experience.”

_You know a Dead End, don’t you?_

_Babe, I’m friends with him._ Before Knock Out could organize his thought into words, Breakdown clarified, sending him a mental image of a clunky mech with a red and black color scheme that Knock Out recognized. _Dee and Dead End are the same mech._

“Can’t say I know him,” Knock Out answered with a clever grin. Quirking a brow, he asked, “Are you _not_ in a committed partnership with one mech that involves fragging and merging?”

Shockwave stared at him for a long time, the gears in his processor visibly grinding. “Technically.”

Knock Out pushed himself up and waved a suave servo in the scientist’s direction. “There goes any linger doubts that those brats are your fault,” he teased, making his way to the door, too mentally exhausted to handle any more than he had.

“I fail to see your connections.”

Before he activated the keypad, Knock Out flashed Shockwave a smile. “Stubbornness is a dominant trait. Try appealing to the fraggers by talking about their interests. That should get them to do _whatever_ you want.” Just in case, he didn’t wait to see if Shockwave connected the dots.

_Still in the canteen?_

Breakdown let him see through his optics a bright hallway and several mechs walking around him in a lively group. _We’re headed to that courtyard. You finished?_

That sounded promising. As much as his spark burned for reprieve, they weren’t that far away. Plus, he could use a bit of gliss to ease the shakiness in his limbs, and one cod wouldn’t damage his spark. _Yes, I’ll meet you there, love._

“Frag this scrap!”

“Be grateful for what we are receiving.”

“Scrap. It’s fragging scrap.”

Dead End pushed his way in, doing his best to avoid touching the hulking mass that was Motomaster blocking the entryway. He glanced about the room, muttering, “It’s not that bad.”

“Not bad, sure, but certainly not good.”

“I’m beginning to reach my limit with you,” Motormaster hissed.

“Move your clunky aft!” Wildrider shouted. Not waiting for anyone to actually process his request, he barreled into the back of Motormaster and shoved his way in. “What’s your problem with this, mech?”

“My problem,” Drag Strip spelled out, “is that this isn’t enough space.” Now with a clear view inside, Knock Out could see the dramatic features the yellow mech was sporting. His arms spread wide as he motioned to the room’s interior. “How do you expect us all to exist in such small quarters?”

“Does it really matter in the grand scheme of things?” Dead End remarked. “How often will we actually be in here?”

Wildrider threw a hand up, grin as wide as his face. “Not at all!”

Breakdown shuffled into the doorway and took a few cursory glances around before showing Knock Out his frown. _You’re not going to like this._

 _Marvelous._ Knock Out slipped passed his lover to enter the common room. At least, that was what he expected it to be. He had an image in his mind of what their living situation would be the moment a shared room was mentioned. There were five members and one medic, so it was perfectly reasonable to assume they would double up in three conjoined berthrooms not unlike the Wreckers’ quarters.

That was not what this was. The entire room was perhaps the length and width of ten or so Breakdowns with no additional doors in sight. Against the walls lay six berths pressed head-to-toe, no more unique or luxurious than those in the barracks.

He must have made an unsavory noise or face because Drag Strip pointed to him, a kind of desperation in his eyes that only narcissists could conjure. “See? Knock Out doesn’t like it either!”

“You’re both prissy,” Wildrider jeered. “You worried about fragging people in here, don’t be.”

“I’m not that vulgar.”

“If we come across any issues,” Dead End reasoned, gesturing pacifically, “then we can work something out. Our current barracks is the least of our concerns.”

“At least one of you is tolerable.” Motormaster leaned against the far wall. The overhead lighting crawled up his frame but couldn’t seem to reach his face, shrouding it in the slightest darkness.

 _I’m sorry. Thought we’d have our own space_ , Breakdown relayed. His apologies were swiftly blocked, though.

 _It’s not like you had any say in it_. Knock Out shifted his gaze between the six berths. _Furthest from the door..._

 _...but with a clear path out_ , Breakdown finished. _Thinking up against the side walls?_

 _Push two together in a corner opposite the door._ He idly side-eyed the still-complaining Drag Strip to make sure the mech was occupied. _Get what we want before he gets to it first_.

“I’m just saying,” Drag Strip said defensively. “If they can afford to give Shockwave an entire training arena, then they can afford separate rooms for us.”

Breakdown shuffled behind Dead End to reach one of the berths they were after. His friend didn’t seem to care about their little scheme, simply smirked lightly and caried on watching their new teammate ramble.

“Don’t expect you know any better than our superiors,” Motormaster hissed. “We are meant to become close, so you shouldn’t be this surprised Command has us situated as we are.”

“Well, we can ‘get close’—whatever _that’s_ supposed to mean—on our work time. Me time is me time, though.”

“I can help you with that if you want.”

Motormaster slammed a fist against the wall behind him. “We are meant to be _brothers_ , Wildrider!”

Drag Strip made a gagging noise, covering up the subtle sounds of Breakdown setting down one of the berths in their desired corner. “Primus, you’re a disgusting lunatic.”

“You’re a bratty complainer!” Wildrider bit back.

Knock Out waited until the two mechs raised their voices at one another to push the other berth up against the first. _There we are._

 _Maybe this is just temporary?_ Breakdown gave him an uncertain smile, one Knock Out mirrored.

_I promise, any upgrade from living with hundreds of other mechs is a massive raise in our living situation._

“What are you two doing?”

Knock Out shoved down the bout of panic that pounded at his spark. Twirling deliberately on his peds in a smooth motion, he flashed Wildrider a cheeky grin. “Getting settled.”

Drag Strip whirled around and finally noticed the changes they had made. “What if one of us had wanted that spot?”

“Too bad,” Knock Out sang. His grin split his face as he lowered himself on the berth, all the while maintaining eye contact with Drag Strip. “You should have thought of that before you began ranting and raving about nothing in particular.”

Wildrider may have cackled at the snide comment, but Drag Strip’s frown just deepened. “I don’t like being cornered, anyway.”

“Isn’t that just convenient.” Knock Out patted the berth he sat on, smoothing out the sheets.

Motormaster stepped away from the opposite wall to eye him critically. “Is there any reason you feel entitled to two berths?”

“Yes,” he said simply. When the silence that followed stretched on long enough for Wildrider to giggle at the awkwardness, Knock Out just continued to stare right back at the towering figure trying to intimidate him.

_I have to._

_Oh, let him fester!_

Breakdown wouldn’t hear of it though. The room was too tense for him, never mind that he wanted to avoid isolating himself from the group this early on. “I said I’d be okay recharging next to him. We both wanted the corner.”

Motormaster shifted his calculating gaze to Breakdown, so he likely missed the confused twist in Dead End’s mouth. Knock Out noticed, though. Their sights locked, Dead End’s eyes filled with a question, Knock Out’s with clear defiance. A shallow nod seemed to pacify the warrior.

“So long as you don’t form any ideas concerning your physician,” Motormaster conceded.

Breakdown nodded obediently, but Wildrider let out an annoyed groan. “We can’t clang with the sexy doctor?”

“ _You_ can’t,” Knock Out swiftly corrected before Breakdown could lie poorly. “But don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine in that regard.”

Drag Strip scoffed, far too loudly for it to not be intentional. “Do you think of nothing else?”

Wildrider clearly did not care for his own life. He flung an arm around Drag Strip and dawned an overly exaggerated smolder as he let his voice drop several octaves. “You’re just jealous.”

Perhaps one day, Knock Out wondered, he might regard the night as being the first time all of Menasor gathered in a single room. Or as the first time the group fought with each other—physically and verbally. But as he lay in Breakdown’s arms, the shared quarters filled the sounds of strangers recharging nearby, he struggled to really commit the moments to memory.

_Tell me something good._

Breakdown brightened, a casual smile playing across his cute face. _I love you. That’s a good thing._ The admission escaped him before he had the chance to rein it in. _Doesn’t count._

 _It’s a given at this point._ Still, Knock Out cuddled up against the larger chest and slipped a quick kiss to his lover’s lips.

A flurry of pleasant emotions flew by Breakdown as he considered his actual answer. His mind kept returning to their quiet moment here, though. _I think this is the best part of today. It was a lot getting pushed around by Command and all, this just feels..._

_Normal?_

_Yeah...normal._ Breakdown’s grip on his lower back tightened to tug them closer. _You?_

 _This, I think. Today really was boring for me._ He smooshed his face into Breakdown’s chest. _It does feel oddly natural, doesn’t it?_

_Maybe it means we’re doing the right thing?_

_I wouldn’t trust my instincts that much. But I digress._ Knock Out gripped at the seams along Breakdown’s side, a familiar strain flooding his systems he tried to ignore. One cod a cycle was a difficult limit to set, but it was all he could do while his spark recovered. _Let’s skip the bad. Tell me something boring instead. I need the distraction_

Breakdown had spent nearly a three joors waiting in a private examine room. He hadn’t minded, especially when Chamberlin had walked in and confirmed the massive influx of casualties. That was enough for his lover to insist on waiting. He was there for a physical, and Command-mandated or not, his medic was needed more elsewhere.

So, the entire room was explored. Knock Out remembered waking from a nap and idly chatting about it over the bond, but he hadn’t known the full extent of it. There were little fractures in the ceiling Breakdown recognized as potential structural damage. The walls were a darker purple at about waist height. Or berth height, depending on how he viewed things. Off in the corner, almost hidden behind a shelving unit, someone by the name of Blitzwing had etched into the wall “Optimus Prime frags scraplets” and signed his name below it. Breakdown had taken the sharper edge of his hammer to the wall, adding in a little drawing of a smiling Decepticon insignia.

 _Why not?_ Breakdown’s spark overflooded with a relaxed kind of joy.

Knock Out basked in the sweet tale, letting it lull him to a restful state. All the while, he committed each detail to memory.

Complete and utter ignorance. That was the only way Hook could think to describe it.

Shockwave had given them a decent presentation, he’d admit to that, but there was no other excuse for anyone taking the project proposal seriously than sheer ideocracy. Megatron had sat back in amazement when his precious scientist was through and had nothing more to give than vague retorts when Hook had tried to protest. Starscream had sided with him. That wasn’t particularly helpful, but by the end of their meeting, it was the only win he could secure.

The project hadn’t been approved just yet. So, Hook made it his mission to get through to someone (besides the seeker). He thought if he could just convince one or two of Megatron’s closest advisors, the project might be denied.

Soundwave turned up a dead end. As much as Hook had appealed to his softer nature and even the denomination the host shared with Scrapper and Long Haul, the mech refused to hear him. Such loyalty was truly commendable in any other circumstance, but it was foolishly blind here. Hook told himself Soundwave was just mad at him for the whole cassette-emergence incident and moved right along.

Reflector was of some help. They were just as disturbed by Shockwave’s proposed body-merging experiment as he was, but they were no Soundwave or Shockwave. They were loyal, yes, but the Special Operations Officers had little sway in Megatron’s decision-making. Their plan was to disapprove the project, but they were of the mind that there was nothing more to be done.

Astrotrain refused to return his calls. The fragger was alive, Hook knew that much from Command meetings, but according to Blitzwing, he didn’t care about “science junk”.

As much as Hook didn’t want to admit it, Starscream was a promising candidate. It had taken him orns to approach the seeker, but after four Command meetings ended with the Arial Commander both insulting Shockwave’s combiner project _and still_ following Megatron to their leader’s quarters, Hook had succumbed to the idea that the glitch of a seeker would actual be of some use.

“Of course, I’m against it,” Starscream scoffed. “It’s a crime against nature. But what’s new?”

“So, you’ll try to convince Meagtron—”

“There’s no ‘convincing Megatron’ of anything.”

“But you _just_ said—”

“I know very well what I said and what I mean.” The seeker inclined his chin, his wings lifted smugly. “Every time I fight against the combiner’s creation, Megatron only wants it more. If only because the debate riles me up.”

Hook had been furious. Exhausted, at his wit’s end, and furious. That was the excuse he gave himself for the things he said next.

Needless to say, the seeker voted to approve the project.

So, there was nothing left for him to do but glower. He decided to make Shockwave earn every scrap of effort needed for the project. Need physicals done? There were other lackies to handle that, but their schedules were just so busy. Want to complete the mechanical bonding apparatus? That was something he happened to feel the scientist himself was better suited for.

With every cycle that Project Menasor existed, Hook made his displeasure quite clear.

When Shockwave had come to him regarding a change in position—with Knock Out, of all mechs—Hook found himself surprisingly torn. Of course, he wanted no part in this immoral mess, but there was a nagging feeling tugging at his spark telling him he shouldn’t leave.

So, he had told Shockwave he would consider it.

“Why the long face?”

The flowy voice was a familiar one, despite how recent its invasion in his life. Hook turned around to watch as Knock Out swaggered over, self-satisfied grin as present as always. “Don’t bother me.”

“Aw, is someone in a bad mood?”

“I’m serious. Don’t test me.”

Knock Out stopped at his side, grin faltering. “So...Shockwave was right about you.”

Hook scoffed. “I can’t imagine that.”

“Well, Soundwave’s words filtered through Shockwave.”

“Ah, then probably, yes.”

Knock Out laughed casually, but his attention seemed to stray from their conversation. Hook looked over at his employee to find him wistfully gazing at the future “combiner”. The five mechs were all lined up against the wall, a puzzle in front of each of them. The goal seemed to be to rescue one of the shapes from the mess of others, sliding them all across the board to remove the desired piece from a notch in the frame’s side.

What Shockwave hoped to accomplish with it, Hook hadn’t the slightest idea. It did seem entertaining, though, to watch each mech work through the puzzle. Motormaster looked ready to drive his long sword through the game, Shockwave, and any other mech unfortunate enough to be near him. Wildrider had gone suspiciously silent, a far more frightening scene than the larger warrior growling Kaonite profanities. Drag Strip looked insane as he rushed to finish the level as quickly as he could. He apparently didn’t notice the obvious path out seeing as he repeatedly hit pieces together in an attempt to complete the puzzle. Dead End was practically normal, calmly moving through each level. And then there was Breakdown.

“The blue one is your friend, right?”

Knock Out shook himself from whatever daze he’d become trapped in. “Yes! Breakdown is the mech I defected with.”

“Has he always been...” Hook gestured vaguely at the warrior. “Intelligent?”

Knock Out, for all that he was small and oblivious, shot him a murder-filled glare. “Come again?”

“I simply meant that he doesn’t come across as educated.” He chanced another glance over at the blue bruiser, watching curiously as he easily passed another level. And then another. “Autobots can’t seem to see past our frames. I just wondered if he ever showed them he wasn’t stupid.”

That didn’t appear to pacify him. Knock Out turned his focus back to his friend and began shuffling through his subspace. “He’s never not been entirely himself. Does that answer your question?”

Hook decided against answering that, especially when his employee pulled out a small box. In it were three or four silver rods. Knock Out took one out and activated it in a single, practiced move. “You know you barely survived extensive spark trauma.”

“I’m still here aren’t I?” he sang in that sweet tone of his. Whoever had told him long ago that the slight trill and delicate upturns could get the mech anything he wanted must have been incredibly insightful. “As are you, I see.”

“I am,” he conceded, watching as smoke streamed out of Knock Out’s vents. “For now, at least.”

“Tell me, Hook, is there something you’re hiding from me?”

“Concerning your friend?”

“The whole ‘Menazar’ thing in general.”

Hook drew in a deep in-vent to calm himself before he remembered what Knock Out was puffing into the air. He choked on the course substance invading his vents until he regained the ability to speak. Albeit with a tone. “ _Menasor_ is an abomination. An immoral, horrid curse against Primus.”

“So...this ‘disinterest’ in the project was prompted by...”

“Morality.”

“Right,” Knock Out said, dragging out the word. He took in another draw of the cod and let its filtered contents escape into the clean air. “What about it is so wrong?”

He had an argument ready. After orns of fighting with various people on the matter, he had an entire spiel concerning creation and what it meant to be bonded to another person, attacking the issue from as many angles as he could.

But Knock Out was not like most Decepticons. Hook was fairly sure the mech was an atheist (at this point, that wasn’t uncommon), but he was far from ignorant. There were lessons many ex-Autobots had to learn on the matter of respecting religions and individual freedoms and community, but not once had he needed to lecture Knock Out. The little racer was as arrogant and paranoid as a seeker, but Hook would never describe him as close-minded.

“You know I’m a part of a combiner team,” he began, instead. “They aren’t a military unit to me. They are my brothers. And being a brother is not something you can fabricate in a lab. This—this _thing_ Shockwave is trying to create is not like us. It’s a crime against life itself.”

Knock Out bit down on the end of the cod, too occupied with watching his friend fly through Shockwave’s puzzle game and listening to him plead his case to intake another draw. With hesitant motions, the cod was removed from his mouth. “How is this any different from being bonded to someone?”

“That kind of spark bond is meant for just two people. Three, if you’re a seeker.” Hook shifted his weight to one leg and pushed his fists against his hips. “That isn’t just my religion talking. The average spark isn’t meant to handle this kind of network. Soundwave’s is. Mine is. But theirs,” he pointed to the line of mechs, “theirs are going to be stretched too thin.”

“Alright,” Knock Out huffed. “How did this ever get approved then?”

Hook couldn’t help the frown that formed. “Shockwave made a compelling case. He’s been experimenting on turbofox sparks and thinks he’s found a way to replicate a gestalt network.”

“Has he?”

“What?”

“Found a way, I mean. With turbofoxes?”

“Technically, yes. But we are not animals.”

“I’ve seen enough of the world to argue otherwise.”

As Knock Out drew in another round of crysmag, Hook let his mind wonder over the various meanings of the statement. The obvious answer was the series of terrible events with the Autobots, but it was the weighted way he’d said it that made Hook curious if there was more.

“Is this going to kill Breakdown?”

Hook shook himself out of his thoughts. “According to Shockwave’s research, no.”

“That’s well and good, but I want your opinion.”

“I...I don’t know. My best guess is no, but I can’t help but question what this will do to each of them.”

“Do you think...should I be worried?”

His first thought was to deny it. As against the entire endeavor as he was, Shockwave would never have proposed the project if there was a greater chance of failure than success. But Knock Out didn’t just use his words to speak. There was something there in his tone, an underlying concern that went spark-deep. And his focus still hadn’t strayed away from that blue warrior.

“I really don’t think he’d die,” he assured, trying to layer his voice as Knock Out had. “ _But_...I also don’t think he’ll come away from this the same.”

“Is that coming from the physician or the religion?”

“Both.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'll leave you here for now. :)


End file.
